


Theatre de Sang

by fhsa_archivist



Category: Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter - Laurell K. Hamilton
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-06
Updated: 2006-09-20
Packaged: 2019-02-05 14:52:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 43
Words: 155,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12796785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhsa_archivist/pseuds/fhsa_archivist
Summary: Sequel to Damian's Secret.  Jean-Claude has a new business venture, and Zerbrowski follows his instincts.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Haven, the archivist: This story was originally archived at [Fandom Haven Story Archive (FHSA)](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Fandom_Haven_Story_Archive), was scheduled to shut down at the end of 2016. To preserve the archive, I began working with the OTW to transfer the stories to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. If you are this creator and the work hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Fandom Haven Story Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/fhsa/profile).

_Zerbrowski quizzically watched the pair stride purposefully towards Jason and the shifted Nathaniel, waving off his team and the local police that had started to cut off the two of them. He couldn’t put his finger on why, but the schoolteacher belonged here. He furrowed his brow speculatively, as his analytical mind clicked on the fact that Richard was always around the Master of the City and Anita, even though he was no longer an item with the Executioner. Even in situations, such as this, where he had no business being present. And he didn’t know who the dreadlocked black man was accompanying him, but he had the look and feel of a bodyguard. Interesting and out of place. He always had a hunch there was more to Richard than met the eye, he just couldn’t put his finger on what. It was only a matter of time before he figured out this little puzzle. (Damian’s Secret, Chapter 14)_

 

Zerbrowski sat quietly in his darkened office, letting his tired body recline back in his battered office chair as far as it would allow. His shift was over, his required paperwork complete, and it was time to go home to a little Katie time. And for the first time in God knows how long it was at a decent hour. He winced when he realized how many late nights he had been putting in; ever since his promotion to Lieutenant his work life had been almost overwhelming. 

 

Rudolph Storr had been put on short term disability, his shrink’s orders. The man just couldn’t come to grips with his son’s choices, and since Dolph couldn’t bring himself to hate his own child, he hated the rest of the preternatural community with a passion that was frightening. His former boss was deemed a danger and a liability as the leader of RPIT, and even Dolph admitted the time off was for his own good. But he missed Dolph, missed his intensity and intelligence. Missed being able to bounce ideas off him. The man never could play a hunch, but his mind worked out logical conclusions like a computer. 

 

But despite being officially done for the day, Zerbrowski just couldn’t bring himself leave. The entire incident at Theater de Sang two months ago constantly tickled at the back of his mind, poking and prodding and demanding his full attention. Not Jason’s shooting, or the vampire Damian’s decimation of his assailants; not the HAV and Human’s first trial, either, though he had been following that for amusement purposes. Only lawyers could characterize attempted murder as a “minor misunderstanding”. No, all of that was cut and dried, and solid police work on RPIT’s part. Case closed, on to the next problem. But there was one glaring “T” that hadn’t been crossed in his mind, a piece of the puzzle that just didn’t quite fit.

 

Richard Alaric Zeeman. 

 

He groaned as he sat up strait, squinting at the glow from his computer monitor that was the only light in the room. The email memo, from the Mayor’s office no less, was still up on the screen. Jean-Claude, vampire Master of the City and flamboyant owner of the soon to be opened swanky new dinner club Theatre de Sang, had requested an increased police presence for its opening night gala in four weeks time because of the “unpleasantness” that had occurred there. Naturally, RPIT was asked to provide the protection because of its preternatural expertise and association with Anita Blake - Animator, Executioner, and current sweetie of the head bloodsucker.

 

Attached to the memo was a VIP guest listing for the opening night. The majority of the names made sense – local high powered politicians and businesspeople, some high profile Hollywood actors and actresses that were frequent attendees at Guilty Pleasures and Danse Macabre, and other St Louis representatives from the preternatural community. But once again, there was a glaring exception to the invitees - one supposedly mild mannered school teacher.

 

Zerbrowski let his mind wander back to that night in the former Incubus Dreams parking lot. He’d allowed Richard access to the scene for no better reason than the feeling that the man belonged, and because he just always seemed to be present at dust ups like that. But why was Richard there? He wasn’t a vamp junkie, because more often than not was at odds with Jean-Claude, and showed no obvious scars. And Zeeman was no longer an item with Anita. But he had shown up with a known badass shifter as an obvious bodyguard, and had gone strait to Jason. Well, not quite strait. There had been that odd little standoff with Micah Callahan. He knew the wereleopard leader of the Furry Coalition well, and respected his efforts to help his fellow lycanthropes and to foster a better relationship with the normal human community. He also knew that Micah’s slight frame and short height were deceiving; he was a power to be reckoned with in the shifter community, perfectly capable of breaking the larger Mr. Zeeman in half if he so desired. But he had backed off and allowed Richard to pass.

 

Nothing added up with that man. Not his squeaky clean Boy Scout persona, not his inoffensive educator image, not his Middle America white picket fence aspirations.

 

He sighed as he sat up and logged into the police database. Time to rekindle his hate/hate relationship with his PC. Normally he would have had Merlioni or Smith do his research for him, but he didn’t want to bring unwarranted attention to Zeeman. The man hadn’t actually done anything wrong that he knew of; it was only his gut intuition that there was more there than met the eye that was spurring him to action. It was fine if curiosity killed the cat. It was another matter entirely if it ruined a man’s life.

 

Step one was to see if he actually had any priors. Zerbrowski entered his name, last known address, and driver’s license number into the system and waited for a reply.

 

_“Arrested – Myerton, Tennessee; attempted rape; all charges dropped._

_No other matches found.”_

 

Ok, so no criminal record. Not that he was surprised about that, really. But the whole Tennessee situation was still weird. That Anita went to his aid made sense; she was still his friend even if they were no longer lovers, and Anita held her friends close. But she had taken two vampires, a werewolf, and three wereleopards with her. A lawyer he could understand; but monsters? Another slash in the “doesn’t fucking make sense” column.

 

Step two. See if his name appears in the database at all. If he was brought in for questioning, if he was a witness, even if he was an innocent bystander, he could find him in incident and case reports.

 

His eyes nearly popped out of his head at the number of matches that brought up.

 

The snake incident at Circus of the Damned. Brought in with an unconscious Stephen Dietrich, werewolf, whom he took home with him to tend as a friend. Having a shifter friend wasn’t normal, but also wasn’t out of the ordinary. Being present while said friend helped battle an out of control oversized cobra was.

 

A few days later, another incident at Circus of the Damned. Something huge had gone on there, not that any bodies were found or coherent statements taken. Just the knowledge that something really bad had to have taken place, and once again the name of Richard Zeeman had shown up.

 

The list went on. Always tied to a case involving either a lycanthrope or a vampire, or Anita. Especially Anita. He was present that night at Narcissus in Chains, when they all had thought Anita dead. That incident alone warranted at least two marks in the “doesn’t make sense” column. Professors did not make a habit of going to shifter BDSM clubs. 

 

No man shows up that often connected to the monster without a reason. Only freaks and wannabes played that close with the vampires. In a burst of clarity the answer came to him and he sat up excitedly, his exhaustion slipping away. It was obvious once you put the pieces together and allowed the possibility to enter your mind.

 

He had to be a shifter. And a high up one, at that, to be playing equal with Jean-Claude and Micah. Once he made the connection, other pieces began to click into place.

 

Anita had said Jean-Claude’s animal to call was the wolf, and he had a lot of werewolves in his employ.

 

Stephen Dietrich. Werewolf.

 

Jason Schuyler. Werewolf.

 

Jamil, the dread locked bodyguard. Werewolf.

 

Richard Alaric Zeeman. _Werewolf._


	2. Chapter Two

“Ok, so he’s a shifter, and his furry flavor is werewolf,” Zebrowksi whispered triumphantly to the computer screen. Oddly enough, it didn’t answer him back, either to agree with him or to tell him he was a fool. He snorted and shook his head, then flopped back in his chair again to really think about this current revelation.

 

He trusted his hunches. Anita had told him once that he was very slightly psychic, and he was oddly proud of that little extra ability edge. Dolph was a complete null, and always relied on experience and cold deductive reasoning to do his job. Zerbrowski could picture the man in his minds eye, that cold look of dismissal his former boss would get as he said his favorite phrase, “You can’t take a hunch before a judge, Sergeant. Get me hard proof, and if you can’t, then let it go and move onto the next case.”

 

He knew in his gut he was right about this one and damned if he was going to let it go and move on. He couldn’t place a finger on it, but his instincts told him he needed to know, to prove to himself what the secret of Richard Zeeman was. Because it was personal, and it involved Anita. The Executioner wasn’t the tough bitch she liked to portray. She was vulnerable, and he knew first hand how she could be hurt. And outside of Larry Kirkland, Zerbrowski knew he was the only human friend Anita had left.

 

“So, stop patting yourself on the back for circumstantial evidence and prove that your detective badge isn’t from a Cracker Jack box,” he chided himself. Irrefutable evidence would be a blood sample proving lycanthropy, but he had no grounds to have one pulled outside of starting a McCarthy Era type panic of ‘Monsters are teaching your children!’, and damned if he would stoop that low.

 

He needed an eyewitness account of a shift, and the only one he trusted was his own. 

 

But to start, he needed confirmation of lycanthrope status from a secondary source. Someone to confirm his conclusion, for his own benefit and as good police work grounds for him to move forward with his investigation.

 

Damn, he hated computers but there was no arguing you couldn’t live without them. Within seconds he had a listing of known werewolves in the St. Louis area.

 

Most of the names he was unfamiliar with, and of the ones he knew, he was fully aware that he couldn’t scare them into talking. He briefly lingered on the name of Jason Schuyler, and then ruefully shook his head no. That smart ass little bastard was too tough to crack. He still remembered when Dolph had pulled him in as a murder suspect because of the bloody marks on his arms. The boy had been scared, but he had put up a false bravado and stayed cool. He smiled and gave a small laugh; there had been a bootleg video of the blond werewolf looking down at the tabletop with a coy look on his face, saying “Whatever you say, Mistress” to Anita, who had been wearing a look to kill expression on her face. It lasted about a week after the incident, and then Anita had caught wind of it. Damn, but that woman could be scary when she wanted to be, especially armed with a semi-automatic and a look to kill expression.

 

He couldn’t play hardball with Jason, because the boy just couldn’t be intimidated, and because he had the protection of Jean-Claude. He recalled with a small shudder the cold look on the vampire’s face when they had placed handcuffs on his werewolf. There was death in his eyes that day and damned if he was going to tempt fate a second time. Besides, he was fond of the furball. 

 

His eyes scanned further down the list, and stopped at another familiar name and pulled up his file.

 

_Stephen Dietrich._

 

He remembered the petite blond stripper, from the snake incident at Circus of the Damned and from when he had come in with his brother Gregory to swear out a restraining order against their father, Anthony Dietrich. Well built and good looking, he was very unassuming and almost shy, reluctant to meet the beat cop’s eyes as he explained the need for the legal action. 

 

He could get answers out of that boy, but God help him he felt almost unclean at the thought of playing bad cop with the kid. He read the file again; child abuse and pornography were the nicest things that had happened to Stephen in his youth. He steeled his resolve; the dancer was the best candidate he had, and he wasn’t going to let himself go soft at the prospect. 

 

He stretched and winced as he printed out Stephen’s file. Shit, it was practically midnight, two hours past the time he told Katie he’d be home. There was going to be hell to pay. He’d have to confront Dietrich tomorrow.


	3. Chapter Three

Jason glanced at his Rolex as he hurried into Guilty Pleasures, and winced as he quickened his pace. He loved the gift from Asher, but the damn thing was never wrong, and he needed it to be off because he was running late. It was 11:35pm, and he was hoping to catch part of Nathaniel’s show before he had to change into his costume for his performance. He’d promised Nat he’d watch that evening. “Brandon” was working with Jean-Claude tonight, so it was going to be a hard act to follow, and he’d have to pull out all the stops to at least try to equal the auburn haired stripper’s act. It was because of his popularity that Nathaniel was regularly a closing act, but he had a GED class with Richard later that night and it was decidedly unhealthy to be tardy for one of the Ulfric’s lessons, so the schedule had been adjusted so the wereleopard could leave early that night with the others.

 

Besides, Nat was going to need some time to come down from the high he got when Jean-Claude flogged him for the paying ladies. At least he would be completely relaxed for his study time.

 

Stephen, Gregory, Damian, Nathaniel, and surprisingly enough, Buzz were all working with Richard to pass the GED test. Jean-Claude had embraced his employees educations like a lover, and made countless concessions in order to accommodate their learning needs. Everyone involved was a little stressed now. They were coming down to the wire, and Richard had classes scheduled every evening for the rest of the week, and the test itself for the Sunday when everyone was off. He was amazed at the amount of time and work everyone had put into passing the GED, especially Damian. The millennium old vampire had no schooling at all to fall back on, and was the main reason the classes were so intensive and prolonged. No one complained though, and no one wanted to forge ahead without him. They had decided they were all in this together, and a sense of camaraderie had developed in the group. 

 

Jason admired his former pupil. Damian had taken to the classes with the same enthusiasm he had given learning to read, and his progress was nothing short of phenomenal. Even the Ulfric was impressed, and had been giving his star pupil additional tutoring. The others had good naturedly teased the ancient vampire about the attention. Jason laughed to himself at the memory of Gregory fleeing through Anita’s house, with Damian in angry pursuit. He had made the mistake of calling the Viking a “Teacher’s Pet”, a gaffe he never repeated after the vampire caught him on the back porch that night. 

 

Heading for the best vantage point in the club, Jason sprinted up the balcony steps so he could watch Nat cavort provocatively across the stage. Hell, if he could get away with it he’d probably be down there right with the panting, sweating throng tossing money at the sultry wereleopard. There was just no denying it; his boy was HOT, and it excited him to watch him perform, to watch his nearly naked body dance in the spotlight. Besides, his obvious happy demeanor would be a little extra added treat for his audience. And if the women choose to think his arousal was due to them, all the better. The tips would be flying that evening, and he could use the extra cash.

 

His happy mood fled when he reached the balcony landing. There was someone else there watching the show; Evariste, the troupe leader for Jean-Claude’s new club Theatre de Sang was gazing intently at Nathaniel, completely enthralled with the stripper and unaware of, or ignoring, Jason’s presence. Jason felt his face flush with jealousy, and his beast growl with possessive anger at the scrutiny Evariste was giving HIS lover. Jason had never formally met the vampire, only watched him and his crew work out and practice, and he took a moment to size the man up before confronting him.

 

The olive skinned vampire was small but athletic looking, toned and muscled with a dancer’s build. He was no more than Jason’s height, with short curly brown hair, and slightly pointed ears reminiscent of the fae. Jason started towards him, and although Evariste appeared completely engrossed with watching Nathaniel, he was not unaware of the approaching werewolf. 

 

“Beautiful,” he said softly to Jason. “Such grace and agility, and totally untrained. What I could teach him…” 

 

Jason wanted his attention off of Nat, so he interrupted the vampire’s musings with a question he had been curious about since the troupe’s arrival in St. Louis as the themed dinner theater’s entertainment.

 

“Why the bible?” Jason asked coldly.

 

Distracted out of his reverie, Evariste jerked his dark brown eye’s Jason’s way. “Pardon?”

 

Good. The handsome, well built vampire was no longer gazing longingly at his boyfriend. He deliberately stood in front of the man, blocking his view of the stage. “The bible. Rumor has it that all of your shows are going to be based upon bible stories. Why did you pick the bible?”

 

Evariste walked around Jason, oblivious to the low warning growl that slipped past his lips, and leaned against the balcony railing. The vampire scanned the audience, shaking his head at the mob of women screaming their appreciation at the show. “Merde, what an incredible draw he would be,” he murmured before turning his attention back to Jason to answer his question.

 

“Because it is supposed to be the greatest story ever told. Because it is fodder for a wonderful allegory of our existence that I can parlay into an extravagant show. But mostly because it will tweak the noses of all the human racists out there who believe we are so evil we cannot even make mention of the bible without bursting into damning flames.”

 

He looked back longingly at Nathaniel on stage. “I would love to incorporate weres into the performance, but I think I would feel the master’s lash in earnest were I to denude Guilty Pleasures of its strippers.” He looked ruefully at Jason. “You are his biggest money producers, that one especially.”

 

Jason breathed a sigh of relief, and backed down from his aggressive stance. It was avarice that he had seen in the vampire’s eyes, but he realized it was solely artistic and not sexual in nature. Besides, it felt a little silly posturing in front of the oblivious vampire. A total waste of good testosterone. 

 

Jason laughed at the wistful, longing expression on Evariste’s face. “Want to know something about Nat that will make you cry? He’s double jointed, too.”

 

The dancer snapped his gaze back at Nathaniel hungrily. “Mon Dieu, he would be worth the master’s ire. It is one of the advantages of our lives, non? The ability to heal quickly?” he said, smiling at the werewolf. “Jean-Claude wavered somewhat after that unfortunate shooting incident involving you, Nathaniel, and Damian, but I fear I will have to content myself with begging him for Primo. With his physique and demeanor, he would make a wonderful vengeful God. He would also enjoy wielding the whip, too, I think.”

 

Jason furrowed his brow. “What do you mean, ‘wielding the whip?’ It’s all just an act, right? It wouldn’t be real.”

 

“Of course it would. Do you think we would sacrifice realism for the sake of a few welts that will heal overnight? We are professionals; our audience will not be cheated. And isn’t that what the American’s crave? Reality?” He jerked his chin in Jean-Claude’s and Nathaniel’s direction. “Do you think what the master is doing to the beautiful one is not real? That the blows that are exciting both the performer and the audience are a sham? Would the audience accept anything less? It is my life to perform, to delight those who come to see my art. It is why my first master named me Evariste; it means to ‘please well’. I will do no less for Master Jean-Claude’s club.”

 

Jason understood what the vampire was saying. All you had to do was see the lineup on any given night - Survivor, The Batchelor, Fear Factor – to realize that Evariste understood his audience and took his art seriously. And after the fiasco of a few months ago, he even appreciated the irony of using the bible as a story board for the acrobatic show.

 

His initial burn of jealousy had subsided when he realized the truth of the encounter. Now he was just burning with curiosity. He crossed his arms on his chest, and leaning casually against the wall gave the dark haired vampire an impish grin. “So, what’s the opening night gala going to be based on? Or is it a club secret, and if you tell me, are you going to have to kill me?”

 

The vampire turned an uncomprehending face to Jason, then broke out in a delighted smile. “Ah, such cheek! You must be the one and only Jason, the Master’s Pomme de Sang? I had been told you were a ‘wise-ass’ by Buzz, and since I have no idea what you are referring to I think is safe to assume that you are he!” His smile faded abruptly as he fully realized just who he was talking to, and he nervously looked in Nathaniel’s direction. “Mon dieu! Forgive me; I was not ogling your lover. It was purely professional, I assure you,” he apologized. “Please, Jean-Claude would be most upset with me if I have angered you. He is quite protective of his Pomme.”

 

Oh Lord, he was going to have to have another talk with his Master. Jean-Claude had become ridiculously protective of him after he’d been shot. He reached out and patted the worried vampire’s arm comfortingly. “Don’t worry about it. No harm done, but I am dying to know what bible story you are going to be using.”

 

Evariste beamed with artistic pride. “Why, I started at the beginning, of course. The Old Testament, and the story of Adam and Eve. You are aware of the rather original speculation that the ‘apple’ in the parable was a euphemism for oral sex, and oral sex was the first original sin, and the reason they were driven from paradise?” 

 

Jason grinned, and shook his head no. “Can’t say that I have, but you are going to cause an amazing furor if you start performing fellatio on stage.”

 

“Non, I merely used that unusual theory to point out the one of the many interpretations of the apple symbol. I am a vampire, and my fable incorporates my people. Adam and Eve are the original vampires, and the tasting of the apple is a euphemism for the first feasting upon blood. And that is why a vengeful God drove us out of Eden, and made us fear holy items and banished us from daylight.” He nodded dejectedly in Nat’s direction. “Even though he is not a blood drinker, he would have made a beautiful Adam.”

 

Jason’s grin grew into an evil smirk as he thought of the apoplexy the religiously themed show was going to incite in all of the bible thumping right wing bigots of the city. Particularly one holier than thou vampire. “God, I hope Malcolm’s invited to the opening festivities.” He was sure he would be. Tweaking Malcolm’s nose was one of the Master of the City’s favorite pastimes.


	4. Chapter Four

Zerbrowski took a deep breath as he pulled into his driveway. His car clock’s LED showed 12:42 am. There was going to be one angry, dark eyed spitfire waiting to tear into him as soon as he walked through that front door, and he deserved every bit of it. He had committed the cardinal sin of law enforcement – not calling to say he was going to be late. Damn it, he should have paid attention to the time. He had phoned her as soon as he realized it was almost midnight, and the quaver of fear in her voice as she answered had sent a knife of guilt through his heart. 

 

At least he was sure Katie wouldn’t yell and wake the kids. Hell, if she hadn’t shouted when he called her to tell her he was on his way odds were she wouldn’t now. But her relief at hearing he was fine and only working in the office had quickly changed to a righteous anger. A cold, “We’ll talk when you get home,” was the last thing she said before she hung up on him.

 

Well, I can’t hide in this filthy car all night, he thought to himself as he grabbed his briefcase and headed for the house. It was time to face the music. He lost a little of his resolve after opening the screen door, his sweaty hand hovering above the brass knob of the front door. The door handle test was the moment of truth. If it was locked, she was waiting for him in the bedroom. That was always a good sign; she hated to fight in their own private area, so he would only be getting a lecture. If it was unlocked, she was waiting for him in the living room, and there was going to be hell to pay. He twisted the handle and the door swung open easily.

 

_Shit._ Unlocked. He wasn’t a particularly religious man, but he began to recite the 23rd Psalm as he entered his own house. “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I shall fear no evil…” he murmured as he took that final step through the doorway and nearly collided with his wife.

 

Katie was standing in the foyer, arms aggressively on her hips, her dark brown eyes nearly black with anger and glittering with unshed tears. Worse than that, even though it was only October she was wearing her footy pajamas. He called them her birth control PJ’s, because they were so damned hard to get into, and she knew he hated them. But they were a perfect visual indication of her ire.

 

His wife stalked towards him, her eyes narrowed and breathes audible with irritation. “Yeah, like praying is going to save you now that you’ve finally made it home. And what, Lieutenant Zerbrowski, was so damned important that you couldn’t take the time to let me know you wouldn’t be home when you said?”

 

Christ, he almost wished he was drunk and trying to sneak in. At least THAT would have been an excuse she might have tolerated better than simple inconsideration. He eyed Katie warily, trying to decide if it was safe to answer her or not. Nope, she was taking a deep breath to continue, so he wisely kept his mouth shut.

 

“I’ve seen you rip a rookie a new asshole for not letting a loved one know he was OK. ‘What’s so hard about picking up a fucking phone,’ you’d always shout,” she ranted at him, her arms swinging for emphasis. “That’s why I was so sure something had happened, Zee. You wouldn’t do that to me; you wouldn’t let me sit and worry for almost two hours, because you knew better and loved me too much to scare me with a newbie mistake like that.” Her face crumbled a little, like she was fighting back a good cry. That look, more than anything else, made him feel like a heel.

 

“I’m so, so, sorry, Katie. I know that doesn’t cover it, but I don’t know what else to say. I was dead wrong, and I won’t stand here and insult you with a lame excuse or explanation.” He gave her a hang dog look. “I will never do that again, so help me God and on our kids heads. Forgive me?”

 

Katie’s eyes bored into his own, daring him to argue with her. She finally relented, and smiled as she held her arms open for an embrace. He quickly obliged.

 

“Good, Love, because I’d hate to have to hurt you in your sleep. Don’t you ever do that to me or the kids again. But I still want my first question answered. What the hell kept you at the precinct that was so damned important?”

 

He put his arm around her waist, giving her a quick kiss before he led her upstairs.

 

“It started out with a memo from the Mayor and ended up with Richard Zeeman, and me worrying about Anita again. C’mon, I need a shower and you need to get out of those god awful pajamas. I fill you in after.”

 

***********************************************************************

 

Katie was in bed and waiting for him as he came into the bedroom. He peeked at her top; flowered and silk, so she had gotten rid of the granny pajamas. She really had forgiven him.

 

“Ok, start with the memo from the mayor. What was that all about?” she questioned as she rubbed hand cream on her elbows.

 

“Anita’s sweetie, Jean-Claude, has requested a substantial police and RPIT presence for the grand opening of Theatre de Sang. The Mayor sent me my official marching orders to ‘assist the Master of the City to the best of my abilities and resources’, and a guest list of who would be attending. I’m going to have to call Jean-Claude and go over his requirements, and I’m going to have to work that night, and some overtime before hand setting up the security and working with his people.”

 

Katie sat up straight in excitement. “Damn, Love, that’s the hottest invite right now.” She reached over and smacked him on the chest. “I’d kill to see the celebrities and the show, and you’re going to be there! Making me jealous isn’t helping your case right now, you know.”

 

Zerbrowski perked up at the enthusiasm in her voice. That had possibilities. Maybe he could wrangle some tickets out of fang face for opening night, or at least a later show. Even if she didn’t get to rub elbows with the beautiful people at the grand unveiling, maybe he could surprise her with tickets for a different night to make up for this evening.

 

“There’s going to be a lot of high powered people there, so I can agree with the need, but it just grates that Jean-Claude can get so many concessions from the politicians in this city,” he groused. “That damn Vampire’s got a high enough profile as it is, with all his press and power, without being able to command RPIT too. But he does contribute a lot of money to public works and charities. And he’s smart enough not to throw his weight around constantly, so when he makes a ‘request’ of the Mayor, he gets whatever he wants.”

 

His wife snorted at his whining. “Since you agree with the necessity, I don’t know what you’re complaining about. I read that Irving Griswold interview with the Master of the City in last Sunday’s paper, and it sounds like he’s really trying to bring his people into the modern world peacefully. He talked about the limited opportunities for vampires and lycanthropes, and how his clubs give them employment opportunities that the rest of us humans won’t afford them. And since you already mentioned Richard Zeeman, he also talked about the classes Richard was giving, helping weres and vampires get their High School diplomas and go further with their education. I think it’s a damn shame that shifters are so discriminated against that they have to stay in the closet to stay employed, and that they’re pariah who can’t get a job when they're outted.” 

 

“I’m not arguing with you, Katie girl. I’ve had this same discussion with Micah Callahan, and he knows he has an ally with me. I’m not a big fan of the halfway houses, either. But shifters are powerful and dangerous when not controlled, there’s no denying that. And I do give that good looking bloodsucker credit for trying to integrate himself and his people into society, so don’t lecture me. I’m not blind to the bigotry that preternaturals get. But I don’t think they're cuddly innocents who wouldn’t hurt a fly, either.”

 

Katie nodded her head. “I know you’re a fair man, sweetie. I wouldn’t have married you otherwise. Ok, so what’s this about Richard Zeeman? Weren’t he and Anita an item for a while there? You were going to have them over for dinner, but they broke up. I thought you liked him? You were rooting for him over the Master of the City, if I remember correctly.”

 

He didn’t want to tell anyone his conclusions until he had proof, but he knew Katie wouldn’t say a word to anyone, and he valued her opinion. “He’s a werewolf, Katie. I don’t have hard evidence yet, but I’m going to get it, first by getting confirmation from a secondary source, then by getting either a blood test or irrefutable evidence of a shift. I don’t know how I’m going to get the second yet, but for the first I’m going to grill a known shifter until he admits it. It’s going to be a little dicey doing this on my own, and keeping it quiet from the rest of the precinct.”

 

Katie looked appalled, and a little frightened. “You’re going to try to ‘bad cop’ a known werewolf into admitting Richard is one too? By yourself? You’re going to get hurt, Zee, and for what?”

 

“Don’t ask me why, but I have to know the truth, Katie. As sure as I breathe I know this is important. If he’s a player in the Preternatural community, it’s a threat to my people not knowing for sure. And if he is just what he wants people to believe, a Junior High School Science teacher with a penchant for walking the wild side, then he’s a liability, and one of my people will end up getting hurt trying to protect him when he wanders into a situation he damn well doesn’t belong in. I think he’s a player, Katie my love, and I’m going to find out for sure.”

 

He watched his wife shake her head in exasperation. “You and your hunches. He doesn’t want it known, obviously. He’ll lose his job if you let the information out. Can you do that, Zee? Can you destroy a man’s life?”

 

He sighed and snuggled her in close. “Trust me, I’m not going to destroy his life. And the werewolf I’m going to question is Stephen Dietrich, so I doubt that I’m in any danger there. But I can’t change what Richard is, and I need to talk to him. He’s somehow linked with Anita and Jean-Claude. I won’t see Anita hurt again, but RPIT lost something when she went in deeper with the shifters and vamps. We used to be able to go to her for info, as a liaison with the preternatural community. We lost a lot of that. If he’s high up in the werewolf community, I can use him for info.” He leaned in and kissed her tenderly on the cheek. “And if you’re worried about his future, think of this – I figured it out. How long before some reporter, or some sicko in Human’s First does first? He needs to face reality, or get out of the game.”

 

“So you’re going to scare some poor werewolf kid into ratting out one of his own? That’s not like you, Zee, not like you at all. You talked about that boy before, when he came in for the restraining order with his twin. How you couldn’t understand why a lycanthrope would need one, and how their father was a pedophile and made them child prostitutes. He was the one with the bruised looking eyes? You can do that? Go pull a bad cop routine on someone like that?” She looked up at him with disbelief in her eyes.

 

Well, he’d been feeling guilty about his plan before. Now he felt like a total shit. “I’m going to talk to him, Katie. Just talk. I’m not going to arrest him, or anything. Even if he doesn’t tell me straight out, his reactions will be enough to tell me if I’m right or not. I just don’t know how I’m going to get to witness a shift to wolf.”

 

Katie smiled smugly at him. “Some detective you are, Lieutenant Zerbrowski of the Regional Preternatural Investigations Team. He’s supposed to be a werewolf, right?” She paused and looked at him expectantly, like he should be able to figure out where she was heading with this.

 

“So?” he replied suspiciously. He suspected he had missed something glaringly obvious and was about to feel like a fool.

 

“So, oh brilliant husband of mine, he has to shift at a full moon. Tail him the next full moon and you should have your irrefutable proof,” she answered primly.

 

He was stunned he missed the obvious. Leave it to Katie to ground him and point him in the right direction. He was definitely going to have to wheedle tickets out of that damn vampire now.


	5. Chapter Five

Late as it was, Jason was still wound up and happy as he slowly made his way up Anita’s front lawn to her door, gleefully trying to count his tips for that evening and walk at the same time. He had to talk to Jean-Claude; switching Nat in the rotation had turned out to be a lucrative move for him. By time he hit the stage, the little show his Master and Nathaniel had put on had made the ladies in the audience loud, boisterous, horny, and very, _very_ , generous. The bartender had run out of small bills to exchange with the women, and actually had to go backstage and swap money with the strippers to keep pace. That happened rarely; just about as often as a blue moon. He grinned at his own pun, and pushed open the door. Definitely a banner night all around.

 

He expected to see Nat waiting for him, but it was Damian and Violet who greeted him as he came into the room. They were sitting side by side at Anita’s kitchen table, their bodies comfortably close together as Violet softly encouraged the vampire in his homework efforts. The table was just big enough to accommodate the open books, paper, calculator, and leaning elbows of the couple. Richard must have everyone hopping in preparation for Sunday’s test, Jason thought. Nathaniel really had been serious when he’d text messaged him to come over after his shift and help him study.

 

Jason couldn’t resist enjoying the sight. He was happy for the Viking. Damian’s normal expression used to be dour and sad. Now, he was as relaxed and happy as anyone could hope for in life. He was secure in the kiss, irregardless of his lack of master status. Anita accepted her responsibility towards him, and treated him as a beloved friend instead of an obligation. And he was no longer alone as a man; he had Violet. 

 

Cherry had been the one too break the news to the vampire that he had a live in girlfriend now. True to her lycanthrope nature, Violet had slowly marked her territory so as not to spook her prey. He and Nathaniel had been rolling with laughter at the dawning comprehension in the red-haired vampire’s face as Cherry recited the litany of small details that had signaled Violet’s invasion.

 

_“Cherry, she isn’t a live in girlfriend. I haven’t asked her yet,” Damian had argued._

_“Oh, that is just such an egotistical male thing to say. You didn’t initiate, so it obviously hasn’t occurred. Answer me this; does she sleep over at least five times a week?” she demanded, hands on hips and staring upwards into Damian’s startled green eyes._

_“Well, yes, most nights I awaken to her lying next to me in my coffin,” he answered. “But she still has her own apartment, Cherry.”_

_She let out a rude snort. “Irrelevant. Second question. Has Violet moved clothing in? Taken over part of your closet? Does she have her own drawer or drawers in your bureau?”_

_“She has half the bureau and half the closet…” Damian trailed off, the reality of his situation finally starting to sink in._

_Nat and Jason groaned. They knew one more question was coming, and if Damian answered in the affirmative to that one too, he might as well just buy a ring and propose._

_Cherry was grinning triumphantly. Men could be so dense, and it didn’t matter their age. “Ok, last question, and the most important one. Has Violet been keeping any feminine products in your bathroom?”_

_That one baffled Damian. “Feminine products? As in perfume, shampoo, and lotion?”_

_“Those too, but I was referring to products that deal with her monthly cycle,” Cherry elaborated._

_“Oh! You mean tampons and pads.” Damian closed his eyes and shook his head ruefully. “If I say yes, I suppose that means I have a ‘live-in girlfriend’?” He opened his eyes and glared at Jason and Nathaniel, who by this time had tears rolling down their cheeks from trying to muffle their amusement. “How could I not notice? And why didn’t she just say something to me?”_

_Cherry patted him consolingly on the arm. “It’s ok, Damian. Zane didn’t have a clue when I moved in with him, either. She probably was afraid to spook you, considering you’ve probably not had a committed relationship in over 1000 years.”_

 

Still smiling at the memory, Jason greeted the pair and leaned against the table. 

 

“Nathaniel is in Anita’s bedroom with Micah, Jason.” Damian informed his former teacher. “It may be awhile before he can join you.”

 

_Good_ , Jason thought. It gave him some time.

 

God help him, he was still a little suspicious of his encounter at Guilty Pleasures, he decided now was as good a time as any to pump the vampire for information. He casually straightened and stretched, and with an exaggerated yawn asked, “Damian, what do you know about Evariste?” Yeah, he was almost certain Jean-Claude’s newest employee wasn’t trying to make a play for Nathaniel, and in all honesty if Nat was interested he had no real right to balk, but that little green eyed monster in his soul kept rearing his ugly head and he wanted the older vampire’s opinion on the vampire.

 

“Evariste? The troupe leader for Theatre de Sang?” Damian questioned with half his attention, concentrating on the Algebraic problems in front of him as Violet corrected an error he had made. “What do you wish to know?”

 

Jason sighed. He was trying to be oblique with his questions, because he really didn’t want to have this blown out of proportion, or worse, get back to his overprotective vampire master, but it looked like he was going to have to elaborate a little. “I want to know what he’s into; is he a conquest kind of a guy, or is he looking for something long term? And what team is he batting for?”

 

Damian looked absolutely bewildered as he tore his attention from his work and looked at Jason fully. “I have no idea what you just said. Did Evariste do something to you? He’s not a master vampire, and generally is immersed in his work, so I would be very surprised if you say he did.”

 

Jason sighed. Ok, he wasn’t being as smooth as he thought. He might have stood a chance with one of the younger vamps, but Damian still lagged behind woefully in modern colloquialisms. He shot an irritated glance at Violet. She _could_ have helped him out and explained a little here, but she was too busy sitting and giggling over Damian’s perplexed expression and Jason’s exasperation.

 

Fine. He was never really good at subtlety anyway. Straightforward was always more his style. “I went to work tonight and saw him eying up Nathaniel during his act. I’m as close to positive as man can be that it was purely professional, but I wanted to know what you thought of him, if he was going to make a play for Nat or not.”

 

Damian actually grinned broadly enough to show fangs. Older vampires almost never did as a matter of control; it was a good indication of how amused he was about Jason’s question and apparent jealousy. “Evariste is no doubt solely interested in Nathaniel as an addition to his act. The man is asexual. I’ve never known him to show an interest in men or women outside of his craft. It has to be purely professional.”

 

Jason grinned sheepishly back at his friend. Yeah, he knew he was being stupid, but a part of him exulted in the fact that he had no fear of competition from the lithe actor. Just as another small part of him very softly wondered just how deep into a relationship he had gotten into with the little wereleopard stripper. He could hear Nat talking to Anita in the hallway; he had to change the subject, and quickly, before Nathaniel made an appearance.

 

“That’s what he said, too. In fact, he was fairly salivating at the possibility of using Nat in his troupe, because of his looks and his dancing abilities. He was afraid of pissing off Jean-Claude, though,” Jason answered. “It wouldn’t have worked anyway, since Nat’s on the mingle list as part of Anita’s Tri, like you are. And I get to attend as Jean-Claude’s beloved Pomme.” The Master of the City wanted to show all the trappings of his power, as well as flaunt his club that opening evening.

 

Jason was excited at the prospect of opening night. It was going to be a critical success, and a shocker. He shook his head in amazement at the audacity of the club. “A vampire show based on the bible. It’s going to create an absolute furor.”

 

Damian snorted. “It’s an open invitation to the radicals to do something. And have you seen the invitation list? The Master has invited Malcolm, of all vampires, even after the fiasco with his church.” He waved his hand in dismissal, taking the impediments in stride. “But it will make money, and it will be wildly popular, so we’ll just have to take precautions.”

 

Jason grinned. He knew the vampire was trying hard to earn the managers position at Theatre de Sang. “Jean-Claude has already requested police and RPIT assistance for that evening. Zerbrowski is going to freak when he finds out he’s going to be working at a vampire club on Mischief Night. Besides, _we’ll_ just have to take precautions? Having aspirations of a promotion, are you, Damian?”

 

Before Damian could respond, they heard a car door slam, and jogging feet, followed quickly by Gregory bounding through the front door, eyes bright and a smile on his face as he saw Damian. The smile slowly faded when he noticed Violet at the table, and disappeared completely as he took in Jason as well. 

 

“Well, _shit_ ,” Gregory snarled nastily as he dumped his bag on the floor, and in an eyeblink his muscles were tense with anger. The blond wereleopard was the opposite of his twin; he had mercurial moods and impulse control issues, and it looked to Jason as though he was about to give them a demonstration in he differences.

 

“Vivian was working with Stephen, and I fucking new better than to third wheel on them. So I came here to work with one of my other classmates, but it looks like Violet’s already helping Damian and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why you’re here, Jason.” There was an undercurrent of rage to Gregory’s voice, but with a little disappointment and hurt mixed in, too. Jason never really liked Gregory much, he was more a friend of, and packmate to, his brother Stephen. But they were twins, and Gregory had as hard a life as Stephen had; budding psychologist that he was, he understood that Gregory just responded differently. 

 

The abrupt tension in the room had to be diffused. He tried to offer an alternative to the obviously pissed off man. “Chill, Greg. What’s Buzz doing for a study buddy tonight?”

 

“Buzz went back to Guilty Pleasures to get a recap of the night from Clay. Ever since that stupid fucking werewolf let in the underage groupies, he feels paranoid enough to want to check the club out after closing each night.”

 

Gregory’s eyes took on a spiteful glint. “Well, with the way you guys are paired off, it looks like you’ll be doing more fucking than studying tonight,” he snarled nastily at the three of them as he retrieved his bag and headed back to the door. “I’m better off on my own anyway. I might actually get work done, unlike the rest of you.”

 

“Gregory!” Damian’s harsh voice stopped the blond man in his tracks. Damian wasn’t a Master vampire, but in the pard he was considered a dominant, and Gregory instinctively obeyed him.

 

Jason tensed and went still, expecting a confrontation. And from the nervous look on Violet’s face, she was thinking the same thing. But a part of him was curious at Damian’s authoritative tone. Gregory had been just a little afraid of the vampire since the incident at Anita’s house, when Damian had gone revenant and turned violent at finding himself a daywalker after the forming of the second Triumvirate. Stephen would have instantly submitted at the vampire’s command, but Gregory could be a hot head. If something scared him, he had a tendency to fight back if he could.

 

“What?” Gregory snarled back, not bothering to turn around and look Damian in the face.

 

Damian didn’t respond to the tone. For whatever reason, the vampire understood the troubled wereleopard. Understood that Gregory was a little bent, but that he often used his attitude and aggression to mask his real feelings. That the blond wereleopard knew he wasn’t as well liked as his twin, knew he was considered the bad seed, and acted the part. 

 

Not looking up from his papers, Damian calmly said, “If you want to study with me, I would welcome your company. Violet was just helping me with the Algebraic word problems, and you seem to be good at them.” He looked up at the wereleopard then, his emerald green eyes taking on a hard glint; “Or do I need to repeat my ‘Teacher’s Pet’ lesson to you?”

 

Gregory grimaced, and subconsciously rubbed his ass. “No, you don’t need to do that again. I’m sorry, Damian.” He reluctantly came forward and almost self-consciously made room for his books on the now cramped table. “I’d be better off if you taught me how to fight, then spending time on this stuff. I’m only doing this for Stephen”, he grumbled softly, and wisely refused to meet the vampire’s gaze.

 

Damian motioned Gregory to take a vacant seat. “I can do that as well, if you want. But for now, we need to pass this test, or at least get enough done to satisfy Richard tomorrow evening. And I don’t have that much time until dawn.”

 

Jason relaxed. Damian had learned through necessity to be calm and keep the peace, but his overall people skills had definitely improved in the last few months. 

 

He sniffed the air, and closed his eyes expectantly. Nat came into the room, smelling of soap and aftershave. “Hey, Jason! I’ve been getting ready for you. I set everything up in my room for studying.” He sauntered over and gave his favorite werewolf a quick hug. “Oh, and Anita’s getting ready to take a shower, Damian,” he whispered conspiratorially to his Tri-mate. “She should be yelling shortly.”

 

Jason shook his head ruefully. “She still hasn’t tried again, has she?” he asked the smirking vampire. One of the ‘perks’ of having a human servant was that Jean-Claude could once again taste food through Anita, and Damian was hoping the same would hold true for him, even though he wasn’t the master in the relationship. The Executioner was notorious for hating to be tied deeper in metaphysical bonds, but a promise was a promise, so she had agreed to try the one thing he missed the most from when he was human – the taste of beer. The first attempt had been a bust, but both Jean-Claude and Damian felt that as the bond became deeper, it should work. Anita had said she was going to try an ale again for him, and by God Damian was going to make sure she delivered.

 

“No, and I’m not buying her excuse that we haven’t progressed enough. So I leave gentle reminders for her. Beer bottles in the oddest places. In her desk at Animator’s, Inc. Sitting next to her French Press. The last one I left in her Zombie bag. This one is hidden among her shampoo bottles,” Damian said smugly. “The next one is going in Jean-Claude’s bed if she still balks.” 

 

It didn’t take long. There was a shriek from the bathroom, and they heard Micah roar with laughter, right before a dripping wet and incensed Anita appeared before them.

 

“Damn it, Damian, IN THE SHOWER? I TOLD you I would try this again, but we have to get stronger! Will you freaking give me a break and BACK OFF!” she yelled before sloshing her way back to the bathroom.

 

Damian’s eyes were slits as he turned to Jason. His Mistress was stubborn, but he wasn’t about to give up. Time to escalate things.

 

“All right, how much do you want to smuggle one under her pillow in Jean-Claude’s bed?” he asked Jason. The werewolf was practically doubled over with laughter, and had tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes.

 

“That’s a free one, Damian,” he managed to wheeze out. “It’s going to be worth it just to see her speechless. You better just hope Jean-Claude’s in a good mood that night!”


	6. Chapter Six

Zerbrowski sighed as he checked the time. 10:45pm. He was right on schedule for his meeting with the Master of the City and his as yet unknown Security Officer, and he had made a point after last night to let Katie know exactly where he was and that he’d be very late that evening. The Guilty Pleasures parking lot was packed, as usual, but he had no problem finding a spot in the Reserved section of the lot. The preternatural strippers and dancers in all of Jean-Claude’s clubs were a huge draw. He swore the Mayor sat chortling in his office every evening, rubbing his hands together in glee while he avariciously counted the tourist and tax dollars that damn “modern business” vamp brought to St. Louis. 

 

Which is why he was here this late evening, assisting “to the best of his abilities and resources”. He knew the real “read between the lines” meaning of that statement: make sure Jean-Claude was happy and that nothing happened, but don’t cost the city any more money than necessary. Christ Almighty, he hated this part of his job, the oh so necessary schmoozing of politicos and the powerful, but at least he was better at it than Dolph had been when he was in charge. Besides, he intended to get Katie tickets to one of the “sold out” performances at Theatre de Sang tonight, or he was turning in his “husband of the year” plaque. He owed his Katie girl, and he always made good on his debts. 

 

A grim smile played on his lips. He’d checked the playbill, and “Harlow”, aka Stephen Dietrich, was working this evening, and he fully intended to follow through on his Richard Zeeman investigation with the young werewolf. Kind of a killing of two distasteful birds with one stone. He just wished he felt better about either job.

 

Morosely, he pulled down the girly vanity mirror all cars came equipped with nowadays, and straightened his tie. _Primping for an overdressed, flamboyant dead guy,_ he thought, disgusted with himself for fluffing up for the chief bloodsucker but, damn it, there was something about that suave vampire that made him want to comb his hair and look neater. It’s not like an expensive tie or suit made him more competent, but he always felt like he was being judged by Jean-Claude. Judged, measured, and found lacking. 

 

Appalled with himself, he slammed the visor up and got out of his car. Fuck it, he thought, _Popeye was right. I yam what I yam._ Feeling better and more himself with the cartoon reference, he grabbed his battered portfolio that held his trusty yellow legal pad of questions and ideas, and approached the rear employee entrance.

 

He paused and examined the door before knocking. Might as well give the man his money’s worth. _Not good. No small window, no tiny sliding door, not even a stupid little peephole to allow whoever was on the other side to know just who they were admitting_. He shook his head as he rapped smartly on the door, per Jean-Claude’s instructions. Let’s see how well his “security” did at this, his anchor club.

 

The door was immediately opened by a blond haired man, who looked like he should be at a frat party instead of guarding the rear entrance of a strip joint. _Well, let’s see if the kid knows his stuff,_ Zerbrowski thought. Deliberately not offering his name, he simply said, “I have an appointment with Jean-Claude.”

 

The young man smiled and offered his hand. “Hi, I’m Clay. You’re Lieutenant Zerbrowski, right? Just come with me.”

 

_Great. Just fucking great. No idea who he was opening the door for, no questioning of ID, and he’s about to take me to the most powerful vampire in probably all of the United States of America_ , Zerbrowski groaned to himself as he shook the man’s hand and followed him down the hallway.

 

Time to see if it’s just lack of training, stupidity, or arrogance.

 

“How did you know I wasn’t alone? Or even that it was who you were expecting before you opened that door?” he questioned softly. 

 

Clay looked slightly confused as he glanced back and him over his shoulder. “You look familiar, you’re right on time, and the Master said you would be coming so I knew it had to be you,” Clay explained with all the confidence and naivety of a twenty something male. “Besides, I’m a werewolf; most of the security is here at Guilty Pleasures. I’m strong enough to handle situations.”

 

Zerbrowski rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to smack the pup in the back of the head for his arrogance. It would have been child’s play for a half dozen well armed commandos to storm right through the blond werewolf and probably take control of the club and the Master of the City. Had he never heard of silver rounds? And with an overabundance of female civilian hostages, it would be an ugly situation. Anita had told him about this; how preternaturals sometimes had a tendency to believe they were invincible. That kind of attitude wasn’t going to fly with him; it was going to get someone killed. Someone he was responsible for. But he couldn’t blame the young shifter completely; whoever had trained him had been remiss.

 

Well lucky him, because if this one small encounter was indicative of the quality of security here, it was going to be a hellacious task to bring everyone up to snuff in the scant few weeks he had until opening night.

 

In short order he found himself standing outside an office door, and heard the seductive voice of Anita’s sweetie saying “Entre vous” to Clay’s respectful knock.

 

“Lieutenant Zerbrowski, Sir,” Clay announced, careful to keep his eyes down and his posture submissive. _Very interesting,_ he thought. Jean-Claude commanded a lot of respect from his employees, apparently. Or fear. Shifters were hard to read sometimes, with their animal instincts interspersed with their human traits.

 

The Master of the City rose from where he had been behind his CEO size desk, to greet his guest properly and to introduce him to the largest woman Zerbrowski had seen outside of Xena, Warrior Princess. “Thank you so much for meeting with us, Lieutenant. Anita tells me I am in good hands dealing with you,” the vampire purred in that disgustingly seductive voice of his. _Save it for the ladies, fang face,_ Zerbrowski thought, as he carefully avoided looking the vampire in the eyes as he shook his hand. An overly cautious gesture on his part, since Jean-Claude was hardly going to roll him, but learned habits died hard. 

 

He turned to the tall, black haired woman Jean-Claude was gesturing at. Tall was an understatement; that lady had to have a foot on him. “Allow me to introduce you to my new head of security, at Theatre de Sang, Claudia,” Jean-Claude said as Zerbrowski dutifully shook the woman’s offered hand. “She is former military, as well as a wererat lycanthrope. Claudia has worked for me in the past at the Circus of the Damned, as well as assisted in body guard duties for Anita.”

 

Zerbrowski couldn’t resist quipping, “Not what I expected for such a small mammal,” and instantly regretted the remark as she gave him a frozen smile and a quick squeeze of his hand until he could practically hear the bones grinding against one another. Prying his fingers loose, he flexed his right hand to encourage the circulation and stop the nerve tingling. Christ, but he never learned.

 

Time to save face and get back on track. “Thank you for this meeting, Jean-Claude. It’s imperative that I get a feel for the caliber of your security, as well as knowing what manpower you’ll be employing that evening, and the layout of the theater. And to be honest, Sir, if Clay and this club are any indication, I’m not impressed by what I’ve seen so far.”

 

Zerbrowski could tell Jean-Claude was taken aback by his statement from the frozen way he was holding his body and the chilly cast to his features. The amazon wererat was a bit of a surprise to him, though. She was giving him a thoughtful look, as though she was reassessing and upgrading her initial opinion of him from “idiot” to “just might know what he was talking about.”

 

He could see that Jean-Claude was about to protest, when Claudia leaned in and said, “Let him explain, Sir.” Zerbrowski watched the vampire lean back against his desk, waving a desultory hand in his direction as permission to continue before crossing his arms in a classic unreceptive pose.

 

Fine. He could elaborate with the best of them, and he wasn’t about to hold back. “Your back entrance allows no means for ascertaining who is outside, and your man made assumptions based on your instructions to him and the fact that he has lycanthrope speed and power. It may not have been me at the door, even though it was the appointed time. And he never asked for ID. If I had been a well armed, well trained force, you would be either a hostage or a pile of dust by this time.” Zerbrowski gave a pointed look at Claudia. “I’d like to think that this was all some test of my abilities, because if it’s not and this is any indication of what I have to work with here, we’re well and truly fucked.”

 

Jean-Claude looked stunned. Apparently, he too had been relying blindly on his wolves otherworldly powers. Claudia surprised him, though; she barked a quick laugh before holding her hand once again out to him. “Exactly what I’ve been trying to get across to Jean-Claude all along. I think you and I are going to get along just fine, Lieutenant.” Zerbrowski smiled as he shook her hand for a second time. Things were starting to look up.

 

“Good, I’m glad I’ll have your cooperation. My idea is to keep all shifter security inside the club, and my men and any other human security working the parking lot and door lines. A low key lycanthrope presence will be less likely to provoke a confrontation with the kooks, or to invite a sniper attack. And whose idea was it to have this soiree on Mischief Night, of all nights? Are you hoping for a few drunk townies to pull a stunt?” Zerbrowski lectured. He felt better, more in control, now that the focus was off Jean-Claude and on the task at hand. “Now, if you have a layout of the building I can look at we can plan evacuation routes and probe for weaknesses. I’ll still need a tour of the building, though…”

 

Jean-Claude quietly drifted off to his couch to listen to the two engrossed professionals plan. Although chagrined at the failings of his wolves at Guilty Pleasures, he was heartened to realize that things were proceeding in the right direction. He needed to have a talk with Buzz; he needed better training in how to do his job. Being a bouncer to slightly drunk middle aged women apparently had not adequately trained him in his current position as Head of Security for his anchor club.

 

************************************************************************

 

Zerbrowki gave a quick stretch and glanced at his watch. _Almost 1:30am. Damn, what a long day._ But that had accomplished a lot in a little over two hours. Just two more points he wanted to make, and he needed the vampire’s input on those. It was creepy how they could do that; the man hadn’t moved a muscle since he and Claudia had begun their brainstorming.

 

“So will you be the one in charge that evening, Jean-Claude? I need to know who to go to for decisions in case any issues should crop up.”

 

“Non,” Jean-Claude answered, standing and making his way over to where the two of them were huddled around the desk. “I will be otherwise occupied entertaining my guests. I am going to appoint Damian as manager of the theater, and he will be the one you will defer to.”

 

Shit, that wasn’t going to work, Zerbrowski thought. It was like waving a red cape at a bull. Damian had been the one who had incapacitated the original HAV and Human’s First attackers. Not that he didn’t have just cause, but why look for trouble?

 

“Do you think, considering his prior involvement that using Damian would be such a wise decision…”, he trailed off at the steely look the Master of the City was giving him.

 

“I will not be swayed by bigots, Monsieur. Damian has earned this right, and I will not deny him. He will be manager,” he said firmly. Ok, so no room for negotiation there. They would just have to deal with it.

 

“Fine, Sir. It’s your call. My second concern is your other clubs. By concentrating our assets solely on Theatre de Sang, you may be leaving your other establishments dangerously under protected. A smart terrorist might think they were easier pickings and attack there,” he explained. This was a major concern. Unless he choose to close down operations at his other venues, they may be spread to thin to deal with threats on all of his clubs.

 

Jean-Claude smiled smugly at him. “Damian, who you had been so opposed to, also raised this concern. Existing security will remain at the clubs they are currently assigned to, and I am employing all wererat bodyguards for Theatre de Sang that evening, and going forward. Although,” he smiled at the Lieutenant, “perhaps additional ‘crash training’ will be needed in the very near future, as you have pointed out.”

 

Zerbrowski found himself smiling back at the man. _Damn_ , he thought, _I could almost learn to like the vampire._ Jean-Claude was willing to listen to suggestions, and to step back and let them do their jobs. He wished half the city council members and the mayor were so understanding.

 

“Then I think that about covers it for this evening. Claudia, if you could get back to me when I can meet with you at the Theatre, we can do a walk through and look for any apparent weaknesses we missed in the blue prints.” He nervously began to fiddle with his notes. The meeting had come to an end, and it was now or never with asking about tickets.

 

Jean-Claude saved him the trouble. “Will you be attending any of the performances, Monsieur Zerbrowski?” he asked, as he extended his hand for a farewell shake.

 

“No Sir, unfortunately not. All of the shows are sold out, and my wife is as jealous as can be that I get to be here opening night, even if it’s work related,” he explained as he took the vampires proffered hand.

 

“Then I insist she attend the opening night festivities as my guest. And do not protest, I will not take no for an answer,” Jean-Claude said, as he misinterpreted Zerbrowski’s gasp of surprise. “It is the least I can do for your troubles, and will be my apology to her for monopolizing your time until then. And since you will be working, and would be happy to provide a suitable escort for her that night.”

 

Zerbrowski groaned. Great; his wife being escorted by a sultry, sexy vampire or a rock hard ten shifter stripper. 

 

Jean-Claude laughed heartily as he saw the look of dismay on the Lieutenant’s face. “I was thinking of Byron as an escort. And I assure you, while he is a charming rogue, he is a gentleman and would treat your wife like a queen. And he would be more a threat to your virtue than hers.” 

 

Zerbrowski grinned back at the Master of the City. He could _definitely_ learn to like this dead guy. “I thank you then. You have made my wife a very happy woman, and I can’t wait to let her know.” He packed his pad away, and casually continued, “Could you direct me to where I can find Stephen Dietrich? I have a few questions for him; I won’t take much of his time, but I will need to speak to him in private.”


	7. Chapter Seven

A sudden prickly feeling of apprehension made Zerbrowski glance up at the Master of the City, and he cringed inwardly, his smile fading from his face. The change in demeanor in Jean-Claude was startling. No, scratch that. It wasn’t his demeanor that changed, he realized, it was only the vampire’s eyes. They had become hooded, with a cold, hard, calculating gleam. Predatory and dangerous. Not quite as deadly as when they had arrested Jason, but a decidedly unhappy look nonetheless. One that said he’d better have a damn good reason for his request. Even Claudia seemed to tense at the sudden change of mood in the room.

 

“Is Stephen in trouble, Monsieur? He is my employee, and has my protection. I would like an explanation before I allow you to question him,” Jean-Claude said in a deceptively calm voice.

 

Zerbrowski snapped his portfolio shut, and nonchalantly answered, “No Sir, he’s not in trouble. I can assure you of that, but regulations preclude me from saying much more. I’m sure you can respect my restrictions in this matter, as it is a personal one with Stephen.”

 

As he hoped, Jean-Claude accepted his explanation and jumped to the conclusion that Zerbrowski wanted to talk to the stripper about his restraining order against his father. 

 

“Ah, I believe I comprehend. It is a private matter, then; but if Stephen wishes my aid or my ear he shall have both,” Jean-Claude answered. “You are in luck this evening. Normally I have been accommodating the schedules of those who are in Richard’s classes, allowing them to leave earlier than normal. I was unable to do so tonight, unfortunately, and both Stephen and Gregory are the last to entertain this day, if it is necessary to speak to both. Please do not keep them too long, however. There is still a session scheduled, and Richard is most intolerant of tardiness.”

 

Claudia relaxed from her defensive posture, and Zerbrowski felt the short hairs on the back of his neck lay back down, as the vampire’s eyes once again adopted a more amiable glitter. “Stephen will be sufficient, thank you. He has been my main contact; Gregory seems to possess less, ah, social skills if you understand my meaning,” he said, giving Jean-Claude his best professional smile. “If you could just point me in the right direction, I won’t take any more of your time.”

 

Jean-Claude made his way around his desk, and said dismissively, “Very well then. Claudia will show you the way. I thank you again for your assistance.” He took his seat behind his desk, and Zerbrowski and Claudia took the hint and made their way out.

 

Zerbrowski sighed inaudibly as he closed the door behind him. Half his agenda was complete; Katie was going to the opening night gala. Now to ditch the wererat, in case she became inquisitive or protective of Stephen, and continue his private investigation.

 

“Thanks, Claudia, but I think I can manage on my own if you just give me some directions. It’s late and I don’t want to keep you any longer than is really necessary.”

 

The security officer stifled a yawn, and gave him a quick smile of thanks. “Alright then. You’ll want the dressing rooms. If you just follow this corridor until it dead ends, and make a left, one of two things will happen; you’ll hear Jason’s voice and follow that, or you can just keep going until you see the door on the right that says ‘Private – Employees Only’.” She gave him a companionable clap on the back that rocked him forward, and continued, “You can’t miss either. I’ll be in touch to arrange a meeting at Theatre de Sang. It was very good to meet you, Lieutenant!” she said as she turned and made her way to the parking lot.

 

Zerbrowski watched Claudia leave, and as soon as she was out of sight, he arched his shoulders and rolled his neck to relax the tenseness out. Things were actually moving along better than expected. Now to find Stephen.

 

As he made his way to the end of the corridor, he heard a familiar voice sing, “Fee Fie Fo Fum, I smell a St Louis PO-liceman!”, followed by an infectious laugh. Just his luck. The furball had found him. Even though he was slightly annoyed, he couldn’t suppress the grin that plastered his face; the little shit was just plain likeable. Under normal circumstances, he enjoyed the clever banter with Jason, but he would be a very loud stumbling block in his plan to surreptitiously question his werewolf coworker.

 

As he made the left at the end of the corridor, and got an eyeful of the blonde werewolf, his grin quickly transformed into whooping laughter at the site. The boy was in some sort of ancient Roman or Greek battle getup, and had on more eye makeup than a five dollar hooker.

 

Bent over and holding his sides, he wiped the tears from his eyes and exclaimed, “Jesus, kid, they PAY you to look like an effeminate gladiator? I’ve seen less black eyeliner on Goth chicks!”

 

Jason mock indignantly drew himself up to his full height, and hands on hips proclaimed, “And what the hell would you know about women, Mister ‘ _Conned my childhood sweetheart into marrying me_ ’? I’m 140 pounds of twisted steel and sex appeal, and for your information my adoring fans dig eyeliner. Haven’t you ever wondered how the ‘80’s Glam bands made so much money?” He laughed and came over to shake Zerbrowski’s hand. “So Z-Man, what brings you to my humble place of employment? Harboring any latent tendencies that you want to talk to me about? Remember, I’m going to college now for Psychology. I can almost professionally counsel you, if you want.”

 

Zerbrowski just shook his head, the indulgent grin still on his face. The kid was incorrigible; thank God he had powerful friends that got him out of the trouble his mouth tended to get him into. And he would listen to a smack in the back of the head and a stern lecture. “No, smartass, I was here to meet with your boss about security at Theatre de Sang. And now I’m trying to find Stephen Dietrich. Do you know where he is?”

 

Zerbrowski saw Jason’s smile fade as his visage took on a more worried cast. He quickly said, “He’s not in trouble, don’t worry. But I do need to talk to him, and I’m really not at liberty to tell you why. It’s a private matter.” Christ, he was really feeling like a bastard skirting the truth with everyone, but it was unavoidable if he wanted to get to talk to Dietrich.

 

“Ok, then, I’ll chase him out of the dressing room for you. He’s just cleaning up for his class with Richard. Greg’s on stage now, and as soon as he’s done and showered they're heading over to the Circus together.” He shook Zerbroski’s hand. “It’s good to see you again, especially since you’re not yelling at me this time. Tell Katie I said Hi!”, Jason said in parting as he entered the dressing room. Zerbrowki could hear him shout through the closed door, “Stephen! You have a visitor! Zerbrowski wants to talk to you!” 

 

It wasn’t long before Stephen came hustling out, clad only in his jeans, his curly blond hair still dripping from the shower. Zerbrowski winced; shifter or not, the kid looked about as threatening as a golden retriever puppy, and could get blown over in a stiff breeze. Slightly apprehensive, cornflower blue eyes stared into his own as Stephen said, “You wanted to see me, Sir? Is there a problem?”

 

“No, no problem, Stephen. I just wanted to ask you a few questions, that’s all,” Zerbrowski explained soothingly. No reason to scare the kid in the hallway. “Is there somewhere we can go that’s private?”

 

Stephen relaxed slightly, and his eyes went from being scared to a more trusting look. “We can go in one of the ‘quiet rooms’. Just follow me,” he said and turned and walked further down the hallway.

 

Fantastic. The kid trusted him. He was feeling _really_ good about this course he’d committed himself to.

 

As soon as they entered the dimly lit room, Zerbrowski motioned the young stripper to sit. He leaned against the wall, and simply waited for Stephen’s nerves to force him to start the conversation. It didn’t take long.

 

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant, but I don’t know why I’m here. I haven’t done anything wrong.” Stephen suddenly looked terrified. “Is this about my father? Is he going to do something to Greg and me?”

 

Zerbrowski held up a hand, and slowly shook his head no. “No, Stephen, everything is pretty much the same with regards to your father. The restraining order is still in effect, and if he so much as sneezes on you or your twin Gregory we’ll arrest his ass, and let him learn first hand what the general prison population thinks of child molesters,” he explained calmly. He stood and walked over until he was in front of the seated boy, looking down on him. “This is about Richard Alaric Zeeman.” He deliberately refused to elaborate, leaving it at that simple, cryptic remark.

 

Honest confusion furrowed Stephen’s brow, and he stammered “Richard? What about Richard?”

 

Zerbrowski had leaned a thing or two about shifters from being around Anita and Jason. He was relentless in his authoritative signals, refusing to break eye contact with Stephen, and leaning even further into the werewolf’s space until the cowed kid subconsciously cringed back and showed his throat.

 

“Yep, your pal, Richard. The junior high science teacher who shows up in the oddest places and with the oddest companions. Like with the snake at the Circus. Like at that shifter S&M club Narcissus in Chains. Like in the parking lot at Incubus Dreams. That one I found really interesting; tell me now, what school teacher rates a werewolf bodyguard? And has practically every lycanthrope there kowtowing to him or kissing his ass?”

 

Stephen licked his lips nervously, and broke eye contact. A tremor began to run through his seated body. For a moment Zerbrowski was slightly nervous; if the kid went wolf on him he was in trouble. But Stephen was too timid, too submissive to challenge his dominance.

 

“I don’t know why your asking me these questions, Mr. Zerbrowski. Richard won’t like that I’m talking to you. You’re going to get me in trouble with him,” he stammered.

 

Time to get tough. “Look at me! Don’t turn your head away when I’m talking to you!” he barked, and Stephen quickly jerked his eyes back to Zerbrowski’s face. “Why would he mind you talking to me if there’s nothing there? Unless, of course, he’s concealing something? Something very, very big?’ Stephen’s blue eyes were wide with fear, and he was practically hyperventilating his anxiety. Zerbrowski was shocked by the level of fear the stripper was exhibiting; just how powerful was Richard, anyway? 

 

“Richard’s my Ulf… he’s stronger than I am. He’ll hurt me, Lieutenant,” Stephen panted.

 

Inwardly, he smiled triumphantly. The kid almost let something slip there. “Richard will hurt you? Really. Because in my book, the only thing that can kick a shifter’s ass is a vampire, which we know Mr. Zeeman isn’t, or a bigger, badder shifter…so is that it, Stephen? Is Richard Alaric Zeeman a bigger, badder werewolf than you are?”

 

Stephen exploded out of his chair, shaking his head violently back at forth, and groaning “NO, NO, NO! I never said that! I never told you he was one of us!” He backed away from Zerbrowski until he reached the wall, then slid down it until he was able to wrap his arms around his calves and nestle his head against his knees.

 

_Shit. Shit! SHIT!_ Zerbrowski thought as he hurried over to the huddled man. He never expected this violent a reaction; he had pushed hard, for sure, but there obviously was some lycanthrope thing going on here that he wasn’t aware of. He only knew he had to calm the boy down. He laid a hand on the blond man’s shoulder, and gave it a little shake to get his attention. Stephen raised his glittering, frightened eyes to his.

 

“It’s ok, Stephen. No reason to be this upset,” he said in his calmest, talk the crazy down voice as he urged him to his feet. “Everything is ok, and I have no more questions for you. I’m sorry if I upset you in this investigation, but you have more absolute word that everything we spoke about is confidential. No one outside of RPIT will know about it, unless you choose to talk about it with others,” he said soothingly. “I’d advise you not to, but I realize that I have no control of who you divulge this to. Besides, there’s not much to divulge, now is there? You really didn’t come strait out and tell me anything specific, now did you?” he reasoned.

 

Stephen wiped his eyes, and at least outwardly began to calm. As soon as he got his breathing under control, he answered Zerbrowski’s question.

 

“No Sir, I didn’t. I’m sorry about my outburst; I don’t deal very well with stressful situations,” he said apologetically.

 

_Oh yeah_ , Zerbrowski thought, _I am a card carrying, President of the club, all capital letters BASTARD. I grill the kid and HE apologizes to ME._ Never before in his life had he done something that he felt like crying for, or going strait to confession over, like he did with this little episode. He could feel the bile crawling up the back of his throat.

 

“Then we’re done here, Stephen. You’d better finish dressing and get ready for your class. I appreciate your time,” he said weakly as he followed Stephen back into the hallway. Thankfully it was empty, and he met no one else as he made it to the lot.

 

As soon as he reached his car, the sickness that had been threatening won out, and he threw up the coffee he had consumed during his meeting with Jean-Claude and Claudia. He had his independent confirmation that Zeeman was a lycanthrope wolf, as far as he was concerned, but he felt sickened by what he had done with Stephen. Dirty. He’d probably terrorized the boy into a few more decades of therapy. Wasn’t that something to be proud of? Even Dolph, for all his hatred of preternaturals, would never have pulled a bad cop routine on someone that fragile.

 

Logically he knew it was for the best, that by playing the power game incognito like he was Richard was playing with fire, and putting himself in danger, as well as Zerbrowski’s RPIT force and Anita. Richard was not only a werewolf, but a scary one at that judging from Stephen’s violent reaction. Only one thing left to do, and this one he was doing on his own. No more involving anyone else in this quest. The next full moon, he was tailing Zeeman.


	8. Chapter Eight

“Jesus FUCKING Christ!” Gregory exploded for about the hundredth time since he found his brother half dressed and cowering in the ‘quiet room’ where Zerbrowski had left him. Stephen had refused to tell him what was wrong until they got to the car, saying he didn’t want anyone else to hear, and Gregory understood why when he finally stammered out the story.

 

He thumped the steering wheel in anger and frustration, denting it slightly with the strength of his blows. Neither the impious curse nor the beating of the wheel were helping matters, but they did burn off adrenaline, and kept him from pounding on his brother instead. Something he fervently wanted to do. “Why the fuck did you talk to him? Why didn’t you come get me first?” he yelled at his twin.

 

Stephen was huddled miserably in the passenger side, and he flinched at the tone in his brother's voice. “He’s a cop, Greg. What did you want me to do? I thought it was about Dad.”

 

Gregory rolled his eyes and shook his head in exasperation. Years of therapy, and they still reverted to the same childhood rolls. Stephen would submit and acquiesce to anyone in authority to avoid a confrontation and a beating, even if it meant sexual abuse. Greg always fought, no matter how futile it was or how hard Dad or their ‘clients’ whipped him for it afterwards. He never won, he always ended up abused like Stephen, but damn, at least he tried.

 

“What do I always tell you? Come get me. I won’t let anyone hurt you. Zerbrowski had no business grilling you like that, and you just rolled over and showed him your soft white underbelly. And now look at the mess you’re in,” he shouted as he violently slammed on the brakes for a red light. He saw Stephen lurch forward out of the corner of his eye, and automatically ordered, “You know Anita’s rule.”

 

Stephen smiled wanly. “I’m not naked,” he whispered, vainly trying to make a joke and diffuse his brother’s pissed off attitude.

 

Greg knew what he was doing, but couldn’t help smiling back anyway. _Same as when they were kids_. “No, numb nuts, your seatbelt. The last thing you need is to be propelled through the windshield when I rear end somebody because I’m yelling at you instead of paying attention to what I’m doing.” He took a deep calming breath. “Ok, this is salvageable. Just pull yourself together and everything will be OK. Zerbrowski isn’t going to say anything, and if you don’t tip Richard off by stinking of fear and cringing as soon as you see him when you go to class, he’ll never know what went on tonight.” 

 

Stephen sighed resignedly. He knew what he had to do, and that what he was about to say was going to make Gregory go ballistic again, but he didn’t see a choice. “I have to tell Richard that Zerbrowski’s onto him, Greg, and that I talked to him. He’s my Ulfric, and he’s always been my friend.”

 

Gregory couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He screamed his frustration as he violently jerked the car over to the curb and slammed it into park. “ _WHAT?_ You are out of your _FUCKING_ mind! Richard is going to punish you bad for talking to that cop, Stephen. You know he is! Did you think it was awful when he pulled your beast out? He’s going to shred every inch of skin from your body for this!” 

 

“He might not,” Stephen argued weakly. “He’s been better these last few months, you know he has. Working with Anita and Jean-Claude with their Tri. Calmer and in control.”

 

Gregory reached over and grabbed a fistful of his twin's shirt and began to shake him violently. He was scared for his brother. Scared he wasn’t going to be able to be there for him this time. “Not for this, not for his white picket fence life, and you fucking know it or you wouldn’t be pissing yourself right now,” he fumed. “Why do you always have to be like this, Stephen?!? WHY?”

 

Stephen knew his brother was livid, and frightened, but he wasn’t going to lie, no matter how petrified he was right now. He stayed limp in Gregory’s hand as he answered him. “Don’t you think he’s going to find out anyway? You think the Lieutenant’s going to keep quiet about this? That he isn’t going to pursue it further? Once Zerbrowski confronts him, or worse tells his superiors, Richard’s going to know, and he’s going to move heaven and hell to find out how he figured it out. He may punish me now for confessing, Greg, but if he finds out it was me, and I lied and hid it from him, he may do worse. Much worse. So I’m going to tell him as soon as we get to the Circus, and throw myself on his mercy,” he said, a faint trace of obstinacy in his voice.

 

Stephen watched as his wereleopard sibling let out a frustrated hiss as he leaned back in his seat, his eyes closed and his hands futilely trying to massage the stress out of his temples. “Then go to Anita and tell her,” he pleaded. “Ask for her protection. She’ll intercede with Richard; she’s still Lupa for Thronnos Rokke.”

 

“I can’t do that either,” Stephen said softly, shaking his head no as he reached over and pushed a tendril of hair gently behind Gregory’s ear. “Anita and Richard have been working things out, have been easier around each other. It feels more like a true pack should, and I won’t jeopardize that by causing a fight between them. I’m not worth that. I’ll just take my licks like I always do,” he said, and went back to looking out the window forlornly as Gregory snarled and pulled back onto the road.

 

“Screw that. I won’t let him hurt you. I don’t know how to stop him, but I won’t stand back and let him hurt you.” Damn it, he knew he had been right when he told Damian he was better off teaching him how to fight than the worthless algebra shit they had been studying that night.

 

************************************************************************

 

With a flourish of his hand, Richard finished writing the GED Agenda for Sunday’s test on the board. He smiled at the Dry Erase Marker he was using, as he placed an exclamation point next to the 8 hour total; they worked just fine, but deep down, he was a purist and he missed the smell and texture of chalk. There was no getting around it, the exam was going to be an all day, or rather, all night affair, with each section taking anywhere from forty-five minutes to an hour and a half to complete. And tonight’s class would be the last one before the test, so he wanted to spend some time preparing them for the mechanics of it. 

 

He settled himself in his chair to patiently wait for his star pupils to arrive. He loved the opulent classroom Jean-Claude had provided for his use in the bowels of the Circus of the Damned. He had to give the vampire credit; once he was behind something, by God he was **_behind_** it; there was no stinting on money or quality. The desks were roomy and comfortable, all the texts were up do date and new, and any equipment he needed Richard had carte blanche to buy. Even his chair was top of the line, a high backed beauty with hand tooled leather and a marvelous swivel action, and he gave a groan of satisfaction as burrowed deeper in its padded folds. 

 

Truth be told, he enjoyed this teaching experience more than he did his Junior High classes. The effort and the single minded intensity his adult students displayed as they avidly soaked up everything he taught them did his academic heart proud. Thank God for that, because other than the kids, little else about his educational career was satisfying him any more. He growled softly to himself as he perused the well equipped classroom. Months later, and he still got incensed. Not because it was provided by the Master of the City, but because of the necessity in general of having the GED classes at the Circus. The school board and his principal had been aghast at his request to use school property after hours to tutor preternaturals. Oh sure, they were legal and no one was SUPPOSED to discriminate against them, but to have them on the grounds? Where the community’s children went to school? What would the parents think! 

 

The argument with the principal was indelibly imprinted in his memory.

 

_“I don’t understand what the problem is, Arthur,” Richard said, completely perplexed by the man’s anger and absolute refusal to listen to reason. “The kids will be no where near the school at the late hours I’ll be using it. We won’t be using any of the school’s stationery supplies, and I’ll have them buy their own texts. It’s just the classrooms and AV equipment I’ll need.”_

_“Richard, it’s very noble of you wanting to take on a cause, but these are shifters and vampires, for God’s sake. They aren’t even human. No parent is going to condone the use of their taxpayer dollars for that. Would you want your children potentially exposed to one of those creatures? And for what purpose? What good is an education going to do a monster?” Arthur said primly, supremely confident that Richard would see his point and come around. “And before you ask, yes, I did raise your request to the school board and it was denied unanimously. You’re the best teacher, and the most popular in the district. Your students' grades are consistently above norm. I don’t understand your infatuation with these monsters, but I expect it to be a passing phase. Why don’t you just concentrate your efforts on the ones that matter? The children?”_

 

Richard had been sickened by the man’s bigotry. He had ached to partial shift in front of him, just to see his reaction to the fact that his “best” teacher was a lycanthrope himself. But he hadn’t dared; he’d been afraid of the consequences. And in moments when he wanted to be honest with himself, that was why he was angry, more than anything else. His own hypocrisy in the matter. Hell, on his more morose days which thankfully were few and far between, he considered it to be a betrayal. _Good for me,_ he thought as he ran his hands through his thick wavy hair to distract himself from the agitation he was feeling. _I could still pass for human, still deny what I am to the world in general_. Still hide from his beast, and earn a good living, when half of his people scraped and borrowed from the pack fund just to get by, because very few people would hire a known shifter. And as much as he was at odds with Jean-Claude, at least his establishments provided employment opportunities for the outted. The better jobs were in security. But even if it was just stripping, or dancing, or working the booths at the Circus, it was work.

 

Hearing footfalls in the hallway, he scented the air to see who had arrived. _Wolf and Cat_. He expected it to be Nathaniel returning from his visit with Asher, but quickly discounted that conclusion when he realized the two sets of footsteps coming slowly down the hallway were arguing. _Stephen and Gregory_. The only twin thing about the two of them was their looks; personality wise, they couldn’t have been more dissimilar, and were constantly at odds with each other. But there was no denying the bond they had.

 

As soon as the twins entered the classroom, Richard could tell something was very, very wrong. Stephen was cringing as he came through the door, and the fear stench emanating off of him was tugging at his alpha beast. And Gregory was hissing angry, the smell of leopard thick around him. 

 

He was about to ask what was wrong, when Stephen scurried forward and prostrated himself in front of him, hands held up in a pleading gesture for clemency. Gregory stood behind him, growling and defensive, his eyes already taking on the animalistic cast of his beast. Between the challenge signals from the wereleopard, and the overt terror of his subordinate wolf, Richard felt his beast begin to coalesce inside, and in a gravely, partially shifted voice growled, “Explain yourself, NOW!”

 

Stephen flinched at the harsh tone of the command. “Forgive me, Ulfric,” he pleaded. “Lieutenant Zerbrowski came to Guilty Pleasures this evening, and asked to speak with me.” Stephen paused and swallowed audibly, and risked a look upward at his Pack leader. Whatever he saw frightened him even further, and the words left him as his courage fled. 

 

“I knew he was coming to talk to Jean-Claude about security at Theatre de Sang, but what business did he want with you? Stop groveling and explain to me what’s going on before I get truly angry here, Stephen!” Richard barked out, his eyes bleeding to wolf amber.

 

Almost inaudibly, his voice quavering, Stephen continued. “He really had no interest in me, Master. He kept asking questions about you. About who you were, really. About what…” The words were choked out of him as a wolf hand closed around his throat and lifted him high in the air, his feet dangling and useless. Stephen’s hands vainly tried to dislodge his Ulfric’s grip, his mouth gasping for air and his eyes rolling submissively back in his head.

 

Richard chest constricted in anxiety as he began to comprehend exactly what the new chief of RPIT was after. “What did you tell him, Stephen? _Did you betray me? WHAT DID YOU TELL HIM!”_ He howled in agony, shaking the limp form in his grip as he shouted out the words. 

 

Suddenly sensing motion behind him, Richard whirled his head around and snarled as he spotted Gregory. The wereleopard was crouched, preparing to shift and attack. Preparing to defend his sibling.

 

“Don’t do it, leopard,” Richard warned, as he partial shifted his free hand. “If you shift, I’ll consider it a challenge and rip you to shreds.” He flung Stephen down, and heard him yelp as he hit the floor.

 

Richard stared coldly down at his wolf, watching him as he coughed and sputtered for air. Stephen held out a restraining hand to his brother, and choked out, “Don’t do it, Greg, please! Submit before he hurts you too!” in a pleading voice. 

 

Gregory snarled, but obeyed, abasing himself in front of Richard. Stephen crawled forward to rest his head on his Ulfric’s feet. “I didn’t tell him anything, I swear. All I said was that you’d be angry at me for talking to him, that you would hurt me if you found out. He figured it out, that you were a werewolf, but I never told him,” he said, his voice raspy from the abuse it had taken.

 

Richard looked down at the two huddled weres, too weak even as a team to do any damage to him. They just knelt there, submissive, hoping for mercy, and God help him, he enjoyed it. Even through the anger and his trepidation, Richard still felt a thrill of pleasure at the dominance he had over them. The power. A deep craving to punish them, to make them feel pain almost overwhelmed him. He shuddered at the intensity of that desire, despising the Alpha traits that he had inherited with the lycanthropy. Or so he liked to think; Anita had tried to tell him that he had a bit of a sadistic streak in him all along, that he couldn’t pin on his lycanthropy. Deep down, he knew he used his being infected as a whipping boy for all that he disliked in his life.

 

Richard sighed, and pushed his anger away as he shifted fully back to human. He hated when he lashed out like that; even worse, he hated when he was honest with himself. “You didn’t have to say anything straight out, Stephen. Your face is an open book, and the Lieutenant is a smart cop. He knows how to read between the lines.” He bent down, and urged the two of them to their feet. He’d been wrong to punish Stephen like that, and he was ashamed to admit that it hadn’t been the first time. He abused the friendship he had with the blond stripper, knowing that the subordinate wolf’s nature was always one to appease and forgive.

 

“I’m sorry. I had no right to deal with you so harshly. I offer my power, my blood, as an apology. To you too, Gregory, even though you are pard and not pack.”

 

Gregory looked stunned by the offer, and Stephen was adamantly shaking his head no. “It’s alright, Ulfric. There is no need, neither one of us needs healing.” He smoothed his rumpled shirt, and ran his shaky hands through his hair to put it back in a semblance of order. 

 

“What are you going to do, Richard? Talk to Anita and Jean-Claude?” 

 

“No!” he answered firmly. “This is between Zerbrowski, and me, Stephen. Pull yourselves together, the two of you, and settle down before the others arrive. No one is to know about this. Do you understand? _No one._ You’re to keep it to yourselves. I am Ulfric of Thronnos Rokke, not Anita or Jean-Claude. And it is my life; I will deal with the Lieutenant on my own,” he ordered the brothers. The were both visibly calmer, and nodding their heads enthusiastically in agreement, happy to be back in good standing with their Alpha and instructor.

 

He waved them to their seats, and returned to his desk chair, his thoughts racing. It had been a while since he’d allowed himself to remember his talks with Micah, that night months ago in the then closed Incubus Dreams parking lot. Conversations about being the kind of leader his people needed, about who he was and who he wanted to be. He had pushed making that decision away, smothered it in his usual denials and procrastinations. And now he had exposure looming over him, out of his control.

 

Unacceptable. He would talk to Zerbrowski first; find out what was on the man’s mind and what his motivations were. After the full moon, he decided. After the GED test was over, and the lunar pull was not raking across his control. Then he would deal with this. In his own way and on his terms.


	9. Chapter Nine

_I’m NOT a cruel fuck_ , Zerbrowski’s mind chanted as he spasmodically wiped his mouth with his handkerchief, still nauseated and unnerved at what had just gone down with Dietrich. He was completely baffled, no _stunned_ , by the young werewolf’s reaction to his questions. Evasion was to be expected; shit, he hardly thought the stripper would just instantly blurt out “you got me, Dick’s a werewolf”, so fumbling through a lie would have been understandable, but sheer _panic_? Nothing about what just transpired made sense. Once again, his lack of knowledge of preternaturals was biting him in the ass. The closer he got to his proof, the more confused he became by just what Zeeman _was_ exactly. A werewolf? He had little doubt of that, but what that entailed anymore he had no clue. And he was starting to get mortally tired of flailing around in the dark.

 

Angrily, he crumpled his hankie and tossed it with the other debris in the back seat. Katie would kill him if she knew the crap that was back there, but luckily she stayed as far away from this beloved, beat up P.O.S. as she could. Besides, Katie was the least of his problems right now. Here he was conducting a non-sanctioned investigation, topped off with the fact that he had just used his authority to spook the bejesus out of a civilian. And to what end? The more knowledge he gained, the less educated he was than when he started this whole sordid affair. There was a connection he was missing, a vital piece of information. He felt as though he was teetering on the edge of a chasm of something big, ugly and scary. But the desire to _know_ was beginning to be almost overwhelming.

 

Dejected and depressed, he put his car into drive. He needed to get out of the Guilty Pleasures parking lot before he drew attention to himself, and someone started asking questions. He also needed to get home to the comfort of his Katie, and her sharp mind. He worked better if he could talk things out, and Katie always listened and offered good feedback. But more than that, he needed her understanding. 

 

In the wee hours of the morning, his pleasant residential street was empty and silent. _Thank God_ , he thought drove up to his home, _the bedroom lights still on. Katie’s still awake._ He was feeling guilty enough the way it was, without rousing his wife from her well-deserved rest to ease his soul. He was bone tired, body and soul, and he knew he looked disheveled. Haunted. Running shaky fingers through his hair, he mentally pulled himself together. No good would come from frightening the little woman, he mused, as he grabbed his portfolio and jacket and wearily made his way to the sanctuary of his home.

 

Out of habit, he avoided the creaks in the stairs as he walked up to the second floor, but made no effort to still the homey clicking sound his wedding ring made against the banister as he climbed the steps. That was a happy noise to him, and he needed all the happiness he could get at the moment. He paused in the shadows of the hallway, and took a moment to savor the sight of his wife reading in bed, comfortably propped up with pillows, her hated reading glasses perched precariously on the tip of her nose. Just the sight of her was enough to constrict his chest with need and love. _How did you ever score a woman like that?_ He asked himself for the thousandth time, a strangled little sound escaping him as his already bruised heart contemplated the thought of ever losing her.

 

Startled by the small noise, Katie looked up at him from the book she was reading, and he met her eyes. If he knew his wife, it was some damn Romance novel, but they made her happy, so who was he to bitch. She blanched as she saw his obvious distress, her welcoming smile seeping away to be quickly replaced with one of concern. “Zee, what’s wrong? You look awful,” she questioned as she laid aside her novel and held her arms out to him.

 

Zerbrowski let his portfolio slip from his hand, and haphazardly tossed his rumpled jacket onto the chair, before silently melting into the comfort and warmth of his wife’s outstretched embrace. He didn’t want to talk yet, and shook his head as he lay next to Katie and allowed her to envelope him in her arms. The smell and feel of her body was balm for his soul, and he sighed as she crooned nonsense soothing noises in his ear as she rubbed his back in that age old circular motion that all women instinctively knew.

 

“You’re scaring me, Zee. Did something happen at your meeting with the Master of the City?” she questioned, surreptitiously checking his neck for bite marks. Another, more terrifying thought occurred to her. “Oh, sweet Jesus, love, did someone die in the line of duty tonight?” she asked, her voice taking on a quivery timbre of fear. She knew everyone in RPIT, and liked almost all of them, but more significantly, understood how important they were to him. She pushed her husband away and held his head in her hands, her eyes demanding an answer, or at least a decent explanation.

 

Zerbrowski let out a deep breath. “Not someone, Katie my love, something. My conscience.” 

 

Perplexed, she stroked the back of her hand against his stubbly chin. “Honey, I think you’d better just have out with it. Something’s burning in your soul, and the only way you’re going to feel any better is to talk to me. Please, talk to me. I can’t help if you don’t.”

 

He pulled away from her hands, and sat back against the oak headboard, his right arm encircling her waist to pull her in close. “Nothing happened with Jean-Claude, so you can stop looking for puncture wounds. That part of the evening went beautifully. He may be a bloodsucking creature of the night, but he’s a _smart_ blood sucking night creature. He has a cracker jack, ex-military lycanthrope security officer named Claudia that he has hired for Theatre de Sang, and she and I work well together. He’s also willing to listen to reason on most things, and prepared to allow people the freedom to do the job he hired them to do,” he explained. He gave the top of her head a gentle kiss. “And, he has been forever propelled into the ‘You're Alright’ group because he insisted that you attend the opening night festivities as his special guest, as sort of a combined ‘Thank You’ and apology to you for monopolizing most of my time with this assignment.”

 

Katie jerked her head back at the news, the sheer delight in her eyes bringing the first true smile to face since his encounter with Stephen. “Oh My God, Zee, that’s marvelous! I’ll get to celebrity watch and be the first to see the show!” she gushed, but only momentarily, and the happy look quickly faded from her face. “But you still haven’t told me what else happened tonight to put that troubled look in your eyes. Out with it now, and stop trying to distract me,” she said in her no nonsense, stern voice that made every other member of the household meekly say ‘yes ma’am’ and obey.

 

“No avoidance, just the sweet before the sour, Katie girl. As I said, that meeting went well. It was the one with Stephen Dietrich that has my gut in a knot,” he confessed. 

 

Katie’s jaw dropped in astonishment as she twisted out of his embrace and stared up at him. “You _actually_ went through with it. Bad copping that poor kid to find out about Richard Zeeman. So what, you’re feeling guilty now about using your authority to intimidate the boy?” She gave his chest a smack in irritation. “If that’s all this is about, Mr. Zerbrowski, then damned if you’ll get any sympathy from me. Why do you have to know about the man? I know your intuition says he’s important, but I told you it was wrong to lean on someone with a past like Stephen’s, so if your conscience is aching right now you damn well deserve it,” she lectured. The look of worry on her face was fast morphing into one of anger.

 

“It’s not that simple, Katherine. I wish to God it was; but I did wrong by that boy tonight,” he grimaced, his voice fading off. He was about to explain further, when his wife squeezed his arm roughly, her expression disbelieving. _“What did you do, Zee?_ Did you arrest him? Get him fired? What has you so down about this?” A look of horror clouded her eyes. “Please don’t tell my you locked that abused man in one of those halfway houses for shifters. You weren’t that cruel, were you? You couldn’t have done something that malicious just to make him talk.” Her dark eyes searched his desperately, hoping to see a denial and dreading to see the truth. 

 

Zerbrowski was aghast. “KATIE! Would you PLEASE stop smacking me around! You know me better than that; I would never do something that ruthless simply to get answers. Stephen Dietrich no more deserves to be in one of those places than Jason Schuyler. Hell, I seriously don’t think ANY of the poor bastards they have locked up there deserve that life. It’s not anything like that. You didn’t let me finish; I did wrong by that man, but I swear I don’t know _how_ ,” he explained. “I questioned him about Richard Zeeman, sure; I didn’t expect him to come out and tell me the man was a werewolf, but I’m a trained interrogator, and you can discern more by posture, tone, and eye movement than you can from the verbal answers. And for a wolf, he’s as timid as they come. What little I know about shifters from the preternatural courses we get is that they mimic some animal instincts, so I used a few of Anita’s tricks to intimidate him a little. And it worked beautifully; I got a reaction that was plain as the cute little nose on your face. Enough that I got my secondary source confirmation. There’s no doubt in my mind that our mild mannered school teacher has a furry wolf flavored alter ego.” He paused and gathered his thoughts. It felt good to talk it out, and his wife was listening intently, no longer angry or frightened, just thoughtful. Trying to comprehend what he was explaining to her. She snuggled back into his arms and nodded to let him know she was following what he was saying.

 

His voice softened with a mixture of confusion and disbelief as he continued. “I got a reaction all right. Katie, that boy was _terrified_ of Richard, or at least of Richard finding out he talked to me. I was looking for a response, but I sure as hell didn’t expect him to say that Richard wouldn’t like him talking to me, that he would _hurt_ him for talking to me. He almost let something slip at that point; almost called Zeeman a word that sounded like a name,” he paused as he recollected the scene. “No, more like a _title_. ‘My ulf...’ he started to say.” He shook his head, and began to absently stroke his wife’s arm as he relayed the memory to her. “I had him then; I mean, what can hurt a shifter except another, more powerful lycanthrope? I nailed him with that, just to see what he would do. Flat called Richard a bigger, badder wolf than Stephen was. And he _crumbled_ , Katie. He out and out had a panicked meltdown. Backed himself against the wall and fucking curled up in a fetal position. And I swear to you, I leaned on him, but not near as hard as I’ve done with suspects at the precinct.” He took a deep breath and looked down at his wife. “And afterwards, after I calmed him down, _he_ apologized to _me_. Like it was his fault. Like a kicked dog hoping to make amends. I used him to question because I knew he’d be easy to coerce, and would crumble, but not like that. I swear to God, even with his horrible past, I didn’t expect a total malfunction like that.” 

 

Katie stretched up and kissed him on the lips. “I’m sorry, love. You can be single minded, and pig headed, but you’re not merciless. I’m sorry I said that, about the halfway house. I know you like I know my own heart; you would never do that to someone. But answer me one thing, Zee,” she said. Her tone was serious, insistent. “ _Why_ is it so important you pursue this? You were reticent about using Stephen like that, and look how that turned out. _Why_ is it so important you pursue the truth about Richard Alaric Zeeman? Pardon the unintended pun, but why can’t you just let sleeping dogs lie?”

 

Zerbrowski stared at the ceiling as he answered her, as though the heavens could help him explain. “It’s important, Katie. _I have to know,_ for myself, for my RPIT team. I had no idea the pressures Dolph was under when RPIT was his; the expectations everyone had of him. I’m a parent figure, a teacher, and a boss. And I’m the one who sends them in harms way, and they trust me to know what I’m doing. Katie, they _trust_ me to not send them in blind, to have all the bases covered before I put their lives on the line.”

 

“You’re not infallible, Zee. You can’t know everything, and I doubt your people expect you to. You’re setting the bar too high,” Katie argued, trying to ease his mind. But she understood his motivation; she was a mother, after all.

 

He wanted her to understand. It was almost as important to him as getting to the bottom of Zeeman and the werewolves. “Katie, feeling unprepared, and doing something about it, isn’t an unrealistic goal. I’m not just talking about just shifters here, either. Its vampires as well. It’s only been five years since Addison vs Clark, and what law enforcement knows about either race is pitiful and dangerous. Cops get hurt and killed because of that ignorance. Corporal Tucker got himself ripped in half in the Church of Eternal Life’s basement, because no one knew the vampires could become revenant in the daytime. That poor rookie, I can’t even fucking remember his name, who got chewed up by the animalistic vampire in the St Louis morgue. The Feds that got ripped up by Anders when he partial shifted, because we never knew a really powerful lycanthrope could do that. How many do you want me to name, Kate? Even Anita, with her knowledge and personal experiences, has been hurt.”

 

Soft tears trickled down Katie’s face. “And you almost died because of that witch who used that poor wereleopard’s skin to transform herself. None of you knew they could do that either. But what if Stephen tells Richard, or Jean-Claude? Or what if he gets hurt because he talked to you? Have you thought this all the way through, love? You wanted to witness Richard shifting, and God help me, I gave you the idea to tail him the next full moon. Are you really going to go through with that as well?”

 

“I’ve thought it through enough to know that I’m on the brink of learning a whole lot more, at least about werewolves, and that I’m going forward with this without implicating or involving anyone else who might turn out to be collateral damage. Richard is an enigma. He’s seems like a good guy, but the thought of angering him has a werewolf go practically catatonic. I know he’s powerful, and I’m willing to bet he could help RPIT out. And the more we know, the more we can help his people out as well. Think about the opening night of Jean-Claude’s new club - if there’s a problem, do we protect him or treat him as an ally? If he has the strength and ability and doesn’t assist in a bad situation, what does that make him?”

 

“So you’re just going to ride this horse strait into hell, all by yourself, consequences be damned,” Katie whispered to him in the quiet dark.

 

“Just let it go, Katie. I can handle this,” Zerbrowski murmured back, rolling over to spoon behind her. “I have to do this on my own.” He laid a feather light kiss on the back of her neck to distract her, and ran a hand under her nightgown, reaching to fondle a breast.

 

She gave a swift elbow to his stomach, and was rewarded with a sharp “ow!” and a hasty retreat from her altogether too stubborn husband. She wasn’t in the mood to play, and was more than willing to show her irritation with his insistence on going on alone. As if she didn’t realize he was trying to derail her thoughts _‘Handle this by yourself, will you?’_ her mind fumed. _‘I don’t THINK so. Not if I have anything to do about it’._


	10. Chapter Ten

The bouncer at the door had told her to she needed to see Graham at the bar, and Katie was slowly bulling her way through the screaming crowd to her destination. Even with a lot of “Excuse Me’s” and “Pardon me’s” thrown in to smooth the passage, it still took some judicious elbow work, and outright pushing and shoving to make her way to her goal.

 

_‘Well, this ought to earn me the presidency of the PTA._ ’ She thought sarcastically. ‘ _It’s Saturday night, I’ve dumped my kids at my sister’s for the weekend, my husband is working late, and where am I? At a vampire strip club in the Blood District, apparently with every other woman in St. Louis_.’ Who knew half naked preternaturals were such a draw? _Jean-Claude,_ obviously. He really was one savvy bloodsucker, like Zee had said.

 

At least Guilty Pleasures being this insanely popular worked to her advantage. She had been afraid that she would draw attention coming here alone. Like she was some perverted stalker. That was laughable. She could have come here in a string bikini and stiletto heals, cracking a whip, and no one would have noticed. As long as she didn’t block their view of the stage, she might as well be invisible. 

 

It was time to put her plan into action. She’d wracked her brain trying to think of a way to keep Zee safe. This was her fault, partly. She had been so smug about her suggestion, and now it was obvious talking her husband out of following Zeeman next week at the full moon was a useless endeavor. He was focused and single minded when he thought he was right, and he damn well thought he was right in this. She needed to find him backup, and the list of candidates was woefully short. She would follow him into hell if it would keep him safe, but she lacked the experience, and knew Zee would spot her in minutes. Going to RPIT or any other cop in the police department was out. That would either undermine her husband’s authority or get him in trouble with the brass. Ditto with Anita; besides, even though Zee loved her like a sister, she herself was unsure of Anita’s loyalties when it came to Richard, or any of the preternaturals. She needed someone she could trust, someone she knew Zee liked and respected. Someone strong enough, and stealthy enough, to keep an eye on her stubborn man without being seen. Someone on the inside, who was a friend.

 

She needed Jason.

 

Sidling up to the bar, she leaned across and waved a twenty at the bartender. He gave a quick smile and a nod to acknowledge her presence, and finished pouring an amazing amount of rum and some sort of orange liqueur in a cocktail shaker, topping it off with various citrus juices. A few vigorous shakes, and it was ready for imbibing, and he poured into a glass and gave it to a young woman who looked to be part of a bachelorette party.

 

After sending her happily on her way, he made his way over to Katie, and gave the bar top in front of her a quick wipe down. “What can I get you, Miss?”

 

She was on a mission, but her curiosity got the best of her. She had to know. “What was that drink you just made?”

 

He barked a short laugh as he answered. “A ‘Suffering Bastard’. I don’t recommend it; you look too classy for that gut rot.”

 

Katie chuckled as she answered. “Well, thank you for the complement. Now I really am curious. Why is it called that?” 

 

“Because she damn right well is going to be one come the morning, especially if she keeps sucking them down like she is tonight.” He shook his head sagely. “Not that she’ll listen to my advise. Anyway, what’s your pleasure this fine night?”

 

“A V.O. and water, please, and could you point out Graham to me? The nice blond man at the door told me to see him for what I want,” Katie answered, laying her bill down and snagging a just vacated bar stool.

 

“Coming right up. Graham’s the tall, black haired guy in the Guilty Pleasures security t-shirt at the end of the bar. Do you want me to send him over to you?” he enquired politely.

 

“Yes, please! That would be great. I don’t think I have the energy to fight my way over to him, not after the trek I just had from the front door to you,” she sighed, giving him her best winning smile.

 

He nodded to her, and grabbed the bottle of V.O. as he went to fetch Graham. She watched him as he leaned over the bar and shouted at the man, and God help her, couldn’t resist admiring his toned butt as he did so. She was beginning to understand the attraction of the place more and more. Graham quickly made his way over, and listened intently as the bartender shouted in his ear and pointed in her direction. She gave a little shiver at the appraising look he shot her way. He had an odd haircut, short in the back with bangs that fell practically to his nose. It looked as though he was staring at her through a curtain of fur, and she remembered Zee saying that the security employed at the Master of the City’s clubs were all shifters. 

 

Graham took her finished drink from the bartender and glided his way over. She envied his ability to move through a crowd. Where she had fought and scrabbled her way through, he simply walked with an authority that said ‘you _will_ all move out of my way’. And damned if everyone didn’t. It had to be some lycanthrope thing.

 

He reached her in a scant few moments. “Good evening, Ma’am. Allow me to offer you this drink on the house. Alan said you needed me for something?” he said, giving her his best professional smile.

 

“Thank you! I appreciate that,” she answered politely, taking the proffered drink and a deep swallow before continuing. “I’d like to see Jason Schuyler privately, please, if that could be arranged.”

 

Graham eyed her quizzically, somewhat astonished by her request. She wasn’t the usual type who went in for a little “private dancer” time, but who was he to judge? She seemed a little off; kind of twitchy, and was dressed all in black. Not like she was trying to make a statement, but more like she was trying to go unnoticed. He inhaled deeply. No smell of gun oil, and the jeans and long sleeve shirt she was wearing would show any hidden weapons. He quickly made up his mind; he was dealing with a suburban housewife taking a walk on the wild side, not a crazy.

 

“That shouldn’t be a problem; he finished his first set about fifteen minutes ago, and has over an hour and a half before he performs onstage again. If you follow me, I’ll take you to a back room.” He pushed off of the stool and motioned Katie to follow him. As he peered back at her over his shoulder, and she could see his eyes shining with amusement through his black fringe of hair. She forced herself to pay attention as he began ticking off points on his fingers. “Ok, before we get there these are the ground rules – the dancer has the last say in anything and everything that’s done, and charges his own fee based on what’s requested. You of course have the option to refuse. There can be no touching of the dancer, but he is allowed to touch you, and there are no “Happy Endings” at Guilty Pleasures. We aren’t that type of establishment here. And I will need to search your purse before I leave you.” 

 

_Fee? Dancer? TOUCHING? Holy shit, he thought I wanted…_

 

Graham interrupted her panicked thoughts. “Your handbag, please?” he asked politely, and she numbly handed it to him. He gave a quick look for weapons, and God knew what else, and handed it back to her before politely opening the door and gesturing inside. “Please make yourself comfortable. I’ll have Jason come right in.” The door clicked softly closed as he left.

 

There was a lone leather chair in the center of the room, and she sarcastically thought the choice of material was smart; it had to be easier to clean, and more hygienic. She sat nervously in it, and hoped to God Jason didn’t take forever to get here. 

 

Thankfully, the deities took heed or her plea, and it was only a matter of minutes before she heard talking in the hallway and watched the door open. As usual, Jason made a loud entrance. “OK, my pretty, what’s your heart’s desire this even….” Jason started to joke, before he caught sight of who exactly his client was. His jaw dropped in bewilderment, and he burst out, “KATIE! You’re the sugar mama Graham said wanted me bad?” He started hooting with laughter. “The Lieutenant will flip! YOU want a lap dance from ME???” 

 

“All right, smart ass, that’s enough of that!” she snarled as she shoved herself up out of the chair and stalked her way towards him. “Zee is NOT going to find out, I do NOT want a lap dance, and you are going to keep a civil tongue in your head or I am going to take you over my knee, g-string and all!” 

 

Jason propped his hands on his hips and leered at her, as she half expected he would. He wouldn’t be Jason otherwise. “Promises, promises!” he crooned, his eyebrows wiggling comically. Well, he couldn’t say she didn’t give him fair warning, she thought, as she reached up and grabbed his earlobe. A quick twist had him grimacing and surrendering.

 

“Oww! Ok, I give! I’ll shut up!” She released him, and he gave her a wounded look as he massaged his abused ear. “Why the hell do all cute, petite women have a mean streak to them? Is that some secret female rule or something?” he groused.

 

“It’s a byproduct of a lifetime of being patronized by men who are perpetually larger than we are. Now shut up and listen to me, Jason Schulyer. I need your help; _Zerbrowski_ needs your help.”

 

THAT got his attention, and his visage took on a serious cast. He motioned her to sit and leaned against the wall. “I’m sorry, Katie. I didn’t know there was a problem, and seeing you here at work was too good an opportunity NOT to tease on. I wasn’t trying to be mean spirited. What’s wrong, and how can I help?” 

 

Katie felt like crying at the kind concern she saw in his sky blue eyes. Finally, an ally she could confide it. Someone who might be willing, and able, to help her keep her love safe.

 

“It’s a long story, but let me fill you in. It all started that damn night you got shot in the closed Incubus Dreams parking lot…”

 

**********************************************************************

 

Give him credit, Jason was an excellent listener. He didn’t interrupt, or judge, until she got to the part about Stephen.

 

“Shit, Katie, I fetched Stephen for him! He’s my friend. If I’d known Zerbrowski was going to put him in such a bad position, I would never have done that!”

 

Katie was quick to defend her man. “He didn’t _know_ he was putting Stephen in danger. He was sick about it afterwards, the way that poor boy broke down.” She paused, and asked hesitantly, “He’s OK, isn’t he? He wasn’t hurt by that, was he?”

 

“Last I saw he was fine. He and his brother Greg were heading over to Anita’s for some last minute cramming for Sunday’s GED test. But that’s not the point; hasn’t Zerbrowski ever heard of the saying ‘the road to hell is paved with good intentions’?” he groused. “I can understand his need to find out; he’s fanatical about the safety of his people, and frankly, he wouldn’t be a great leader if he wasn’t. But if he’s planning to follow Richard at the full moon, he’s biting off a hell of a lot more than he understands or could ever chew.”

 

“Could you follow him, Jason? Would you be able to, even at the full moon? Could you make sure he doesn’t end up hurt, or...” she swallowed convulsively before forcing the words out, “killed?” She could feel her throat constrict as she fought back the tears and the fear.

 

“Hey now, none of that,” Jason consoled, striding over to give her a bear hug. “I’ve got great control. I’ll keep an eye on him that night, and try to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid. I’m guessing he can’t know I’m following him around?”

 

“ _No_! You can’t; if he suspects he’ll lose you,” she cautioned.

 

“That’s what I figured. It doesn’t matter, though. I won’t have to go to him. He’ll be coming to _me_. All I have to do is stick with Richard,” he mused, then gave a mischievous grin to cheer her up. “Anything else I can do for you, Ma’am? Cure global warming? Invent a non-polluting source of fuel?”

 

She laughed, just like he intended. “Nothing that difficult, thank you! But you can answer a curiosity question for me – what the hell is a ‘Happy Ending’ Graham said you don’t do here?”

 

Jason’s eyes widened and he held his hands out in front of him in a warding gesture. “Forget it, Mrs. Z! There isn’t enough therapy in the world to explain that little expression to you! I’d rather throw myself between Richard and your husband; it would be less painful!” he laughed as he led her towards the door.


	11. Chapter Eleven

The hallway was cool and softly lit, and Jason made himself at home, sprawling out on the floor, his legs stretched comfortably out in front of him as he waited for everyone to finish the GED test. He would have preferred to be alone, hell, he’d come here expecting to be at 3:30 in the morning, but both Violet and Vivian were there as well, nervously waiting for their men to finish the exam. They thought he was there for Nathaniel as well, and he was; it just didn’t happen to be the primary reason for his presence. Talking to Stephen about a certain relentless officer of the law was his number one priority at the moment.

 

_Only a half hour to go._ He knew the test would be over precisely at 4:00am, and not a second sooner or later. Richard Zeeman was moderating the exam, and he took the task very seriously. Vampires and Lycanthropes trying to get High School diplomas was a novelty, to say the least, and Richard wanted no bigot to say they cheated their way into the degree. He’d even read the riot act to Anita, about not interfering or possibly giving answers to her Tri Mates through the marks. Personally, Jason wouldn’t have gone there, having weathered some of Anita’s righteous indignation in the recent past, but his Ulfric was made of stronger stuff. Richard’s students would pass on their own merits, or not at all. Jason had to hand it to the man; once he’d committed to this project, he followed through with a vengeance.

 

Itchy and nervous, he shifted on the floor, his thoughts making it difficult to stay still. It was only a little over 24 hours since Mrs. Z dropped her bombshell, and once again he found himself hip deep in subterfuge. Except this current little escapade was a hell of a lot more serious than teaching a millennium old vampire to read. He should have said no, he was so far out of his depth with this, but Katie’s frightened face, hesitantly pleading with him to help, to keep her husband alive, melted any objection he had. The image of her tears kept haunting him as he wracked his brain for a plan. Damn it, he had only two nights until the next full moon to come up with a way to keep Zerbrowski out of trouble, and he had zilch. Zip. _Nada._

 

He couldn’t follow him, the cop would know in a heartbeat he was there, or worse, lose him five minutes after he started tailing him. He had no experience in this clandestine operations crap. The only tracking he knew how to do was on all fours, with his nose, and usually involved a woodland creature like Bambi. 

 

Talking directly to the man was out of the question. He wasn’t concerned with getting Katie in hot water, she could handle her husband, but it would only confirm his suspicions, and he would only insist on talking to Richard. He couldn’t betray his pack leader like that.

 

He had even flirted briefly with the ludicrous idea of simply knocking the RPIT chief on the head and locking him up for the night, but he figured even the Lieutenant would give him a one way ticket to a halfway house for assaulting an officer of the law if he did that. Keeping the Z-man contained was going to be as easy as stopping a hurricane with an umbrella. Worse of all, he was operating in an information vacuum. He had to know what he’d learned from Stephen, and who Stephen had told. And keep him out of Richard’s way. And keep himself safe.

 

His mind was on overdrive, coming up with and discarding scenario after scenario. He kept droning the same tune, over and over, as his brain chased itself in circles. “DUM, dum dum dum, DUM dum dum dum, DO DA…”

 

Jason’s eyes flew open when he felt a cool hand cover his mouth. Vivian was crouched down next to him, wincing as though she had a migraine. “Jason, _please_ , if I have to listen to you hum that stupid song one more time, I’m going to go insane. My head is splitting as it is, I’m so worried about how Stephen’s doing on the test, and you’re only making it worse. And to top it off, I didn’t even _like_ the Mission Impossible movie!”

 

Jason smiled under her hand, then quickly licked her palm. It had the desired result on the prim wereleopard; she grimaced, and jerked it back with an “Eww!”, before wiping it off on her jeans. But at least his mouth was free once more.

 

He couldn’t resist a smart ass quip. “Sorry, I thought all cats loved a good lick. Cleans the fur and all that. My bad.”

 

Vivian hissed back at him. “Is that why you dogs like to lick your…”

 

He held up a contrite hand, and laughing said “Hey now, Stephen fits in the dog description too. Let’s not insult the live-in, OK?”

 

The teasing banter relaxed him, but he knew he was being a pain in the ass. “I’m sorry, Viv. I guess I’m a little uptight myself. I really want everyone to do well, but I’m bone tired and all I want to do is grab Nat and go relax. Unfortunately, I have work shit I have to go over with Stephen first.” He smiled at her, and sighing dramatically, gave one last parting quip. “So I would appreciate it if you would refrain from jumping his bones as soon as that door opens.”

 

Vivian shook her head in disgust as she effortless rose to her feet. “Jason, you are so juvenile. You can talk to him all you want. What I was planning on was a little congratulatory dinner, Stephen, Gregory and I. _Nathaniel_ and you are welcome to come as well. I asked Violet, but she and Damian have their own plans.”

 

Jason sighed in relief. Grabbing Stephen here at Circus of the Damned wasn’t his first choice, but he was crunched for time and he knew the werewolf would be here. And it would have been cruel of him to do anything before the test; everyone was keyed up as it was, without additional pressures. And this one was a doozy. He just figured he’d improvise on getting Stephen alone.

 

Vivian wasn’t going to be an obstacle, thank God. His taunting had the dual effect of relaxing him, and annoying her enough that she would avoid him. Now all he needed to do was separate Stephen from his twin. He didn’t know what had happened, but recently Gregory was being hyper protective of his brother. It would have been comical, with a little splash of endearing, if he wasn’t such a royal prick about letting Stephen out of his sights.

 

“Thanks, but I think we’ll pass. The big blowout bash will be when everyone gets their diplomas.” He turned his head at a sound at the door, a split second before it opened and Damian strode out, the rest of the class at his back. Show time.

 

Violet had been off by herself, just pacing the hallway, but as soon as she caught sight of the vampire she walked quickly towards him, a vibrant smile lighting up her face. Jason grinned; a similar expression was plastered across Damian’s, and the two lover’s embraced happily, Damian lifting the smaller woman easily into the air, and twirling her exuberantly. Violet’s peals of laughter were met with knowing grins from all present. They were a good match, those two, and it was nice that they had stumbled upon each other. Vivian and Stephen were embracing as well, forehead to forehead, their eyes closed and nostrils flared as they drank in each other’s scent. Even he felt his heart beat faster as he caught sight of Nathaniel. It was funny, but true, Jason mused, what his nanny always used to say. Every pot had a lid.

 

Richard was the last one to leave the room, a sealed manila envelope in hand. He paused in the hallway, and addressed his class a final time before he headed for the steps. “Congratulations, all of you. Regardless of the outcome, you should all be pleased of yourselves with the effort you put into preparing for this test. I’m proud to have taught you. Now, I have to drop these in the mail before I call it a night.” Choruses of ‘Thank you, Richard’ and ‘Let us know!’ followed the man as he strode up the steps, and he gave a friendly wave goodbye.

 

Arm and arm, Damian and Violet followed the Ulfric up the steps. Good deal; he didn’t have to worry about them. Now to get rid of leopard number one. There were some decided advantages to playing dominant to Nat’s submissive, he thought, as he smacked Nathaniel on the ass, and shooed him away. “Go on to my room, and get changed. We’re going to have some fun tonight to celebrate the test being over. Make sure you’re ready when I get there; this shouldn’t take long.” 

 

Nat beamed at him, then laid a tender kiss on Jason’s throat. He lowered his eyes suggestively, and contentedly bounded up the stairs as Jason had instructed.

 

Now for the task at hand. As nonchalant as possible, he said, “Hey Stephen, before you guys bolt off, I have something to go over with you. You got a second?”

 

Ever agreeable, Stephen nodded and made his way over. Gregory, however, was frowning in suspicion. Obviously, leopard number two was going to be a little more of an obstacle. He was scrambling for a way to get rid of the man, when Stephen, bless his heart, did it for him. 

 

“Jeez, Greg, it’s _Jason_. Stop acting like my bodyguard or something. I’m beginning to feel like Siamese Twins or something.” Stephen motioned his brother away, and Jason exhaled slowly in relief. “Chill out. You and Vivian go on ahead and warm up the car. I’ll be along in a minute.” 

 

Gregory looked like he was about to object, when Vivian laced a delicate arm with his, and led him away. “Come on now. Let the two puppies alone. You don’t have to act like your velcroed to Stephen’s hip all the time.” 

 

Stephen laughed at the mutinous look on his twins face, then turned back to Jason. “So what did you need me for?”

 

Jason glanced up and down the hallway, and scented the air. They were alone.

 

“Listen, Stephen, I know Zerbrowski’s all over trying to prove Richard’s a shifter. Katie came to talk to me last night at work. She’s really worried that Z is going to do something stupid with Richard.”

 

Stephen’s eyes widened, and he was about to protest when Jason held up a hand. “Look, she told me the Lieutenant talked to you. I just need to know what the fuck is going on, and who knows what here. This is _really_ bad. Katie says that he’s planning on following Richard on the next full moon.”

 

Stephen exploded. _“NO! Is he INSANE?_ He can’t do that! What if Richard spots him? What if he goes to the Lupanar? Jesus, if he actually follows him there, Richard may not kill him, but someone else will!” Stephen’s eyes were wide and panicked, and he was subconsciously backing away from Jason, trying to distance himself from the situation.

 

“No shit, Stephen! I’ve been having blind screaming panic attacks thinking about the many ways this can get ugly. _Talk to me._ I need to know exactly what you said to him, and if you’ve told anyone about this.” 

 

For such a huge catastrophe, the synopsis didn’t take long, really. Stephen spoke quickly, half wanting it out and done with, and half afraid that Greg or Vivian would get suspicious and came looking for them. Jason’s stomach clenched with each new revelation. Gregory knew what was up, too, which explained his clingy demeanor with his sibling. Stephen had unwittingly given the Zerbrowski the answer he was looking for, and worse, Richard knew the RPIT Chief was on to him. Someone was going to get hurt, and if past history was any indication, it was probably going to be him. This was ghastly, and he still had no clue what to do. He was outclassed, and needed help.

 

Jason shook his head in defeat. “This is no good. If Zerbrowski gets hurt, it’s going to start a backlash against preternaturals. We could have a return to the critter laws.” He took a deep breathe, and came to the only logical conclusion. “I’m going to Jean-Claude, Stephen. This is just too damn big, and we’re too damn small. He’ll know what to do.”

 

“No, Jason, don’t. _Please_ don’t!” Stephen pleaded, practically going to his knees in fear. “Richard was really adamant about that; _no_ Jean-Claude, _no_ Anita, that it was his life and I wasn’t to tell a soul. He didn’t hurt me, much anyway, when I told him what I’d done. But I don’t want him mad at me again, I can’t take that. I’m low enough in the pack as it is; I need what protection he gives me.”

 

Jason looked dubious, but nodded his head in agreement. Stephen had high up friends, but he tended to get overlooked. He needed to be in his Ulfric’s good graces. He looked into those apprehensive cornflower blue eyes, and his resolve wavered.

 

“Fine, then. Richard’s got a gathering planned for Tuesday’s full moon. The best we can do is stay on the fringes and try to herd Zerbrowski away if he manages to get there. Hell, maybe we’ll get lucky and Katie will talk him out of it.”

 

Stephen clutched at his arm. “So no Jean-Claude then? You won’t tell him?”

 

Jason placed a comforting arm around Stephen’s shoulders, and he urged him towards the steps. “It’s against my better judgment, but no, I won’t tell him. We’ll deal with this on our own. Now come on, you’ve got dinner and I’ve got a kitten waiting for me. Let’s get out of here. Full moon will come soon enough.”

 

As soon as they disappeared up the stairwell, a lone figure soundlessly stepped out of a side room where he’d been listening. _‘Ah, so that is why my little wolf has been so on edge,_ ’ Jean-Claude reflected. The young ones were imprudent; they should have come to him immediately. He shook his head at their foolishness. Cie le vie. They would soon learn.


	12. Chapter Twelve

_Sometimes_ , Zerbrowski admitted to himself, _it was good to be the king_. As leader of RPIT, he had final control over scheduling, and he made sure he had no official or Jean-Claude obligations for this night of the full moon. The endgame was in sight, and he had only one goal for the evening; visual proof of Richard’s lycanthrope status. Hell, the way this night was going, that was more than enough to keep him focused and edgy without added job responsibilities.

 

The strategy had started out simple: follow Richard. It was a relatively easy task, at least to begin with, anyway. Modern technology was a wonderful thing, and the GPS device he had placed in Zeeman’s Jeep allowed him to maintain a discrete distance while tailing him. School. Home. All ordinary stuff. Then came the monkey wrench: a long trek to some area woods on the outskirts of the city. This one admittedly took him by surprise, and had him adjusting his plans on the fly. 

 

He wasn’t exactly sure where lycanthropes went when they were forced to shift because of the lunar cycle, but he never actually considered the woods. That was naïve on his part, he had to admit; where _else_ would a _wolf_ feel comfortable? It was just a dangerous practice as far as he was concerned. Besides, it was another fact about Weres that he should know, but didn’t. So much for the commonly held belief that they had secure rooms in their homes to prevent themselves from attacking anyone.

 

He chewed his lip thoughtfully as he watched the blip on his GPS screen finally come to a halt deep in the forest. He winced as he bottomed out on the uneven ground yet again. This was one major drawback to this development. His beloved automobile was a city girl, and wasn’t made for this country stuff. Zerbrowski took his car as far as he could into the woods, before abandoning the effort and parking it in a small side clearing. She was a good vehicle, but the old girl wasn’t built for off-roading, and he wanted to make sure he could get out of here easily if the need arose.

 

At least it wasn’t difficult to follow where Richard had continued to drive. The path wasn’t obvious, but there were definite treads that an all terrain vehicle would have no difficulty navigating. He walked along it, careful to be as quiet as possible, his eyes and ears on overdrive. He didn’t like the feel of things; the surroundings and atmosphere was just plain _eerie_. There were absolutely no sounds. Woods were supposed to have sounds, weren’t they? Owls, the scurrying of feet, crickets. _Something_. But there was nothing but dead silence, and that was what gave him his first warning that something was following him. The occasional rustle of leaves, or a slight snap of a twig, sounded loud even to his urban ears in the unusual quiet. _Was it ahead of him on the path? Or to the side?_ Noises echoed oddly in the trees, and he couldn’t be sure; hell, he admitted to himself, for as jumpy as he was getting, it COULD just be a product of adrenaline and nerves. 

 

No such luck. An audible crack froze Zerbrowski, and he canted his head to the right as he strained to listen. _There_. More crackling off in the darkness. He damn well wasn’t imagining a bogey man bumping in the night. There was something, or someone, following him parallel to his position. Trying to preserve a casual appearance, he maintained his pace, not wanting to alert his shadow that he was aware of his or her presence. Reaching under his coat, he surreptitiously felt his sidearm in its shoulder harness. The 357 SIG felt comforting under his hand, but he resisted the urge to unholster the weapon. Even if he ignored the fact he was technically off duty, and had no real justifiable cause to draw it yet, the gun was no damn use without a target. He stopped once more as the rustling became more persistent. _No good_. This was just no good, and he was professional enough to admit that this enterprise was quickly going FUBAR on him. It was time to abort. Breaking into a jog, he reversed his direction and headed back to his car. 

 

Whoever it was must have realized he’d been discovered, because suddenly the phantom noises he’d been hearing became alarmingly real as something very large crashed through the woods heading directly for him. Whatever it was sounded fast, and he knew his limitations. Track and field was never in his past, so he quickly abandoned fleeing as a course of action. Whirling in the direction of the pounding footfalls, he dropped to one knee and finally drew his firearm, straining his eyes in the blackness that lay before him.

 

Within seconds, a huge snarling figure came barreling towards him. It was a werewolf, in classic horror movie form. Human shaped, but immense, he had to be well over seven foot, with jet black fur and matching black eyes. _Was it Zeeman? Someone else?_ He grimaced and shook his head. It didn’t matter, really, and he needed to focus. He hadn’t come here to hurt anyone, but he had no choice now. Praying, he took aim, his finger applying just enough pressure to squeeze the trigger, when a grey form streaked by him and tackled the charging black Were to the ground. _FUCK! TWO targets?_ His grip wavered, unsure who he should have in his sights. This was really escalating out of… He let loose a stream of curses as a third shifter joined the fray, this one in man shape like the first, but smaller and with golden fur. Shocked, his jaw dropped open when the new wolf spared a brief glance backward at him, and barked “Run!” before taking up a defensive position between him and the fight.

 

The situation was too chaotic to risk using the SIG, and he backed off of his firing posture. The noise was horrific, snarls and shouts overlaying the sound of ripping flesh and the occasionally moan or howl of pain. He stood, intending to make a break for his car, when he heard a yelp and saw the grey wolf go flying. It landed hard, and lumbered slowly to its feet, drops of blood spraying from it’s mouth as it shook it’s head in a very human-like attempt to shake off the blow, before sinking back to the ground. Snout to the air and throat warbling, the black one gave a howl of triumph, then looked once again in his direction. _Shit, missed that opportunity_. He couldn’t run now, and he once again took up an aggressive shooting stance.

 

It was a brief victory song, because as soon as the grey wolf was out of commission, the honey colored one engaged him, bowling him over and sinking his teeth into a black furred bicep. With a yelp, the dark wolf clawed across a gold furred chest, leaving bloody furrows and forcing the wolfman to release his hold. It was almost mesmerizing, the power and grace shifters showed when battling. It was also scary as hell.

 

_Stop gawking and get the fuck OUT of here_ , Zerbrowski screamed to himself, but his body was no longer responding. He was frozen to the spot. He couldn’t explain it, but suddenly it was hard to breathe, and a prickling sensation tickled along his spine. His arms sagged, and he scanned around frantically, trying to ascertain where this new menace was coming from. Because _something_ else was coming, something that was powerful enough to register even with him, and raise the hackles on the three shifters strewn about him. The grey wolf was whimpering and cringing belly down on the ground, grass green eyes staring off into the trees. The black wolf was only momentarily deterred, shaking his head defiantly before reaching back a clawed hand to deliver a killing blow.

 

A commanding voice boomed “ **HOLD**!” out of the darkness, seconds before Richard Alaric Zeeman strode into view, an average built, curly brown haired woman at his side. ‘Average’ being a relative term, especially when the woman darted to the kneeling black furred wolf man and placed him in a choke hold that would have done a WWF wrestler proud. The wolf’s arms flailed as he struggled against being strangled, and Zerbrowski watched as she leaned down and snarled something in one tufted ear. 

 

Whatever she said, it was effective, and the man wolf stilled. In a quick twisting motion that stunned him with its sheer strength, she flung him off of the prone gold colored wolf man. The petite brunette eyed the two of them, then satisfied that the fight was over, returned to stand by Richard’s side.

 

“Science teacher, my fat hairy ass,” Zerbrowski muttered to himself as he kept Richard in his sights. The man just stood there, clad only in a pair of Levis, and he still felt more regal than any King in Europe. Every etched muscle in his tall frame screamed power, and as his gaze roved over the shifted weres before him, they all cowered and abased themselves. And all he had said was one word. 

 

Just when the tension reached explosive proportions, Richard finally spoke, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had settled over the forest. Not looking at Zerbrowski, he calmly said, “Thank you, Sylvie. Apparently this is much more than a pack squabble we stumbled upon.” He turned his attention to the three wolves, hooded eyes the only indication of his temper. “All of you, explain yourselves. Starting with you, Neal. I especially want to hear your justification for trying to kill a pack member .”

 

Neal. So the black wolf had a name. Zerbrowski watched intently as Neal pointed an accusing finger at the kneeling honey colored wolf. The Lieutenant wouldn’t interfere, not yet, but damned if he was going to let himself or his rescuers get hurt without a fight. Verbal or physical.

 

“He was protecting the intruder, Ulfric! They both were!” Neal chuffed, his voice an odd mixture of human and canine. Zerbrowski’s ears perked up. _Ulfric_. **That** was the word that Stephen stopped himself from finishing that day. So _Ulfric_ did refer to Richard. But what did it mean? He shook off his musings to focus on the still volatile situation at hand. Neal continued his tirade. “That man was too close to the Lupanar, he had seen too much to be allowed to leave. I was moving in to stop him, when the two of them attacked me and tried to help him get away. They broke the law, and deserved punishment.”

 

The woman stepped in front of the taller man, and spoke first, her voice spitting with anger. “Idiot! And now you compound the situation by letting him hear our words? You’re nothing but a hotheaded fool, Neal.” Startled, Zerbrowski blinked quickly, then peered into her eyes. They were a cold, grey color, and he would have sworn they were brown only moments ago.

 

“Back down, Sylvie. Let me handle this,” Richard placated as placed a light hand on her shoulder. Sylvie rotated her head, loosening her bunched up neck muscles, before nodding and stepping backwards. She gave her Ulfric a piercing look . “But he was not wrong, even though he overstepped his bounds. That man,” she argued, pointing to Zerbrowski, “cannot be allowed to leave, knowing what he does. He has seen me, and you, and our gathering grounds. He must either die or become one of us.”

 

Zerbrowski’s eyes narrowed, and he tightened his grip on his weapon in expectation of a battle. No way he was going furry, or dying, without a fight. His chest tight, he thought of Katie and the kids. She had tried to talk him out of this, and he knew she would think it was a stupid reason for him to die and leave them alone in this world. Resolute, he stared at Zeeman, waiting for his reaction.

 

Richard’s eyes became flinty, his voice deceptively calm as he responded to her pronouncement. “No one dies here tonight, Sylvie. I will not kill a man to protect our identities. And it is not our way to turn another against his will. Are we Thronnos Rokke, or are we rogues?” he roared, his voice reverberating through the trees. “The Lieutenant is a friend to Anita, and an advocate of the coalition. I _will_ talk to him, but no harm will come to him tonight. On my honor. _Is that clear_? Or is it your wish to challenge me again?”

 

_Challenge? Thronnos Rokke? Lupanar? What kind of secret culture did these people have?_ Zerbrowski thought, his mind reeling at the sheer scope of the society being revealed to him. As elated as he was by Richard’s words, it was finally sinking in to him that he in was way, way in over his head.

 

Sylvie paled, and dropped to one knee, bowing her head. “I hear and obey, Ulfric. Forgive me. I meant no challenge.”

 

Richard’s voice sounded tired as he motioned her to get up. “I know, Sylvie. Just take Neal and go. I’ll join you shortly after I sort out the rest of this.” Nodding her head, she gracefully rose to her feet and turned to leave, collecting Neal in her wake.

 

Richard finally looked at Zerbrowski. “ _So_. Stephen told me you were hell bent on proving I’m a lycanthrope. The night of the full moon was a reckless choice. ” He spread his arms wide, in a ‘come and get me’ gesture, but the pose was vaguely reminiscent of a cross position. “Well, here I am. Happy now?”

 

Still a little confused by what had just transpired, Zerbrowski spoke cautiously. “Stephen talked to you?”

 

Richard nodded. “Stephen came crawling to me immediately after you interrogated him illegally. I was a very angry man that night, Zerbrowski. I don’t like people prying into my private life, and I don’t like friends betraying a trust.”

 

Zerbrowski went cold. Outclassed or not, if Zeeman hurt that boy… He slowly raised his gun, and in a deadly calm voice said, “You know what Richard? I was wrong with what I did to that man. And I’ll tell him so myself. But if you harmed him in any way because he talked to me, or if you try to harm him, hell, even if you THINK about harming him, I swear to you I will make sure you pay. Stephen was _terrified_ of you being angry with him. I’d never seen anyone crumble like that, but he _never_ came out and said you were a shifter. I may have figured it out, but he never voluntarily betrayed you.” He took a shaky breath, anxious to confess out loud what had been pricking at his soul for a long time now. “I’m sure he hates my guts, and I don’t fucking blame him. I’ll try to make amends, if he’ll let me, but you have no call to punish that kid.”

 

Richard smirked at Zerbrowski’s obvious discomfort and bravado. “For the record, Lieutenant, I didn’t punish him. And I’m sure he’s forgiven you. Stephen’s a kind soul, a good man, and loyal to his friends. You apparently qualify as one, or at least someone he’s willing to protect. He’s the honey gold wolf groveling over there.” Richard’s eyes softened. He walked over to the prone wolf, and ran comforting hands down his back. “Get up, Stephen. It’s OK. You did well tonight.”

 

Completely shocked, Zerbrowski dropped his gun hand limply to his side. “ _Stephen_? Why would you fight for me like that? You could have been killed!”

 

Beautiful yellow eyes glittered up at him. “Jason asked me for my help. You’re his friend, and Anita’s. So that makes you mine as well.”

 

He felt his throat constrict, and his eyes begin to burn. _Son of a bitch_. After what he’d done to the man. Something head butted him in the ass from behind, and he nearly went to his knees. The grey wolf came trotting around, limping slightly, his tongue lolling out of the side of his snout, and for all the world looking like he had a shit eating grin on his face. Snuffling, he shoved his nose in Zerbrowski’s crotch, and sniffed loudly. His manhood assaulted, Zerbrowski gave an indignant, “Hey!” before futilely trying to push the huge wolf away. 

 

Richard pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “Jason, stop teasing the man. Get over here by Stephen.”

 

Zerbrowski’s jaw dropped. “ _Furball_? That’s _you_?” In answer, the wolf gently took his hand in his mouth, giving a feather light bite before releasing and backing up a step. The beast’s bright green eyes held a devil may care intelligence in them. _Yep; it was Jason_. His eyes softened when he realized what the boy had done for him. “I don’t know how you figured out what I was up to, but thanks. Thanks for having my back.”

 

Jason’s tail wagged in acknowledgement, and he advanced forward so he could lean briefly against Zerbrowski’s legs, before turning and loping over to Stephen.

 

Richard crossed his arms across his chest, and stared down and his recalcitrant subordinate wolves. “The both of you knew he was coming here tonight, didn’t you? And you chose to keep it from me,” he questioned, his voice devoid of inflection.

 

Unable to meet his eyes, they both flinched and went low once again. Since Jason couldn’t speak in the natural wolf form he was in, Stephen began to stammer, “We didn’t know what else to do, Ulfric. We only wanted to herd him away before anything happened. We meant no harm, or disrespect.”

 

Richard glared at them, his voice severe as he lectured, “It was not up to either of you to deal with this. It was my affair. The two of you, join Sylvie in the Lupanar. _Now_.” Stephen hesitated, his eyes shifting briefly to where Zerbrowski stood. Jason was even more demonstrative, curling his lip in a slight growl, but still whining in the back of his throat, his tail tucked firmly between his legs to protect his genitals. Zerbrowski had to smile; leave it to the boy to instinctively guard his favorite body part. In a gesture of solidarity, he began to circle around to stand with his two protectors. God only knew what he could do to help, but he wasn’t going to stand by impotently and let them get hurt.

 

Richard closed his eyes in frustration. He hadn’t meant to terrorize them, he just wanted impress on them that he was in charge, should have been informed, and would have handled it as pack leader. But he’d expressed himself badly. Again. 

 

He knelt down in front of Jason, and took his massive head between his hands. “I swear to you on my honor as Ulfric, I will not harm him, and you will not be punished for any actions you’ve taken tonight. Now go.” He turned his attention to Stephen, who was staring at him with his perpetually worried look. He laid a hand on a shivering, furred shoulder. 

 

“I’m not angry with you either, Stephen. You may not be powerful, but you are stubborn and stalwart when it comes to your friends. Go with Jason. You have my protection; no harm will come to you from this affair.”

 

Zerbrowski could almost hear an audible “POP” as the tension dissipated, and he sighed in relief. He could see the two wolves relax as Richard continued to talk.

 

“Go now, the both of you. Please.” Richard was careful to school his voice. Calm. Sound calm, and not threatening. He watched his wolves retreat to the lupanar, Jason still hobbling slightly from the battle. He would heal quickly, tonight, with the power raised by the pack in the full moon. They both would.

 

But that didn’t solve the current crisis. He turned back to the source of the evening’s problems, and asked the one question he was burning to know, ever since the night Stephen came to him. 

 

“ _Why_?”

 

Stalling, the Lieutenant decided to be obtuse. “Going to have to be a little more specific there, Richard. Or should I call you Ulfric? Isn’t that your shifter grand high poobah title or something?”

 

“It denotes _king_ , or _pack leader_. Basically it means that not only am I a werewolf, but I’m _the_ Alpha wolf for this territory. It’s a pack structure just like with natural wolves, Lieutenant, and all werewolves in my domain answer to me. The pack is family, a home. We help new wolves, and maintain discipline so our society is kept secret, and coexists peacefully with humanity. And you damn well understood the question. Why did you have to know?”

 

Satisfied that the situation was no longer volatile, Zerbrowski harnessed his firearm. “Fine. I’ll tell you. Because I knew in my gut that it was important that I was sure. That you were a power, and that I needed to know what you could do.”

 

Richard’s jaw dropped slightly, and his voice was incredulous as he sputtered, “Is that what this is about? You risked so much just playing a _hunch_ , Lieutenant?”

 

Zerbrowski snorted. The schoolteacher knew jack shit about cop instincts. “Maybe. I’ve learned to believe in my intuitions. So tell me something, Richard. What does being Ulfric mean? That you get to sit back and let everyone piss themselves in your presence and lick your boots, or are you expected to actually _do_ something? Like lead, go out on a limb for them, be there for them in return for their absolute trust and loyalty?” He sneered up at the large man. “Fine, your word is law and you have the power to punish and help them through changes. You gonna do the tough stuff too, or is it just easier to leave that all up to Micah?

 

Richard snarled, his temper flaring. He fucking _had_ to mention that damn cat. But Zerbrowski didn’t give him a chance to speak; he just forged ahead, intent on making his point. “I had no idea of how organized lycanthropes were. Your society is huge, and I’m guessing rich in traditions and lore. How the hell can you lead from a closet? Is it like this everywhere? Did ANY of you so called Ulfrics think that maybe, just maybe, if you’d stepped forward and offered advice, or helped, that werewolf gang in New York wouldn’t have gotten so out of control. Do you have any idea how ugly that was, when Special Forces went in? And where the hell were you when Anders was slicing up women in your own territory? Hiding behind your anonymity and Mom’s Apple Pie job?”

 

Richard’s power flared, and he watched as Zerbrowski took a step backward. “You have no right. You don’t understand how hard it is for a shifter to exist in society. To have a normal life.”

 

“Oh, I understand, Richard. I’ve been in RPIT too long, with Anita, to bury my head in the sand anymore. Yeah, there’s prejudice, and hatred, but that’s due to ignorance. And ignorance is nothing more than lack of knowledge. And you know what else lack of knowledge can get you? Killed. Or persecuted. I’m an honest man. I know the score there.” 

 

“I have a life, an existence outside of the preternatural community. I can do more good from the inside if I’m not ostracized from the very society that can help us.” There was almost a desperate quality to Zeeman’s voice now, and Zerbrowski briefly wondered if he was trying to convince himself more than him.

 

“And what image does staying in the closet give people? That you’re evil, or shameful. Look at you. Intelligent, well placed in the school district, seen with the Executioner. Do you see Jean-Claude being ostracized? _Emulate_ him. Be a leader and become a spokesperson for your community.”

 

Zeeman snorted. Strong words coming from someone who had nothing to lose in the situation. “As my students say, talk to the hand, Zerbrowski. You and a whole long list of people are clamoring for me to come out. Well to hell with you all; it isn’t your call.” 

 

“Save it, Zeeman. I’ve worked with gangs. Flippant doesn’t affect me. I had to know, completely, what I was dealing with when it came to you. And I wanted to talk to you. Work with me,” he said earnestly, willing Richard to agree with his eyes. “ I need all the advice I can get when it comes to lycanthropes. For all his faults, Fang face does have a history of cooperation with the local PDs and RPIT. I’m not stupid enough to believe he tells us everything, but he does talk to us. And he’s out there, trying to integrate himself and his people.” He sagged, tired beyond belief, and unsure if anything he did tonight was going to have a positive outcome. “You’re secret’s safe with me. It was never my intent to out you; I just needed to know for sure what I was dealing with. Can I go? Or are you going to rip me up?”

 

Weary, his mind in a turmoil, Richard answered, “Just go, Zerbrowski. I swore to my people no harm would come to you, and I am a man of his word. I trust you are a man of honor as well.” Zerbrowski nodded, then turned and walked back down the path.

 

Richard stood alone, watching the Lieutenant make his subdued way back to his car. Well, not quite alone. “You can come out now, Jean-Claude. I didn’t kill him, or anyone else for that matter.” 

 

Jean-Claude floated softly to the ground next to his animal to call. “Bonsoir, Richard. A night of revelations, non?”

 

He swiveled his head and looked at the man. He was trying to work up an anger, but just couldn’t. He was too damn wrung out. “How long have you known about this, Jean-Claude? Which one of them went running to you?” 

 

“Always looking for insult, Richard. Do not jump to conclusions. Neither Stephen or Jason came to me. I simply overhead the two of them, and considering the past injuries you’ve dealt to my pomme, I felt it prudent to, how do you say, ‘tag along’?” he answered smoothly, careful to keep his voice calm and non-confrontational. “Jason wished to solicit my help, because he has confidence in my judgment, but Stephen was adamant that they do not. He was very much afraid that you would be angry with him, Ulfric, and did not wish to risk your ire again by involving me.” He sighed dramatically. “He has trust issues, our fragile Stephen does. Too often in his life those who have sworn to protect him have harmed him instead.”

 

Richard opened his mouth to protest, then shut it thoughtfully. The truth was the truth. He’d long ago taken Stephen under his protection, back when Raina and Marcus ran roughshod over him because he was a subordinate member of the pack. And he’d only treated him marginally better.

 

“What exactly did you expect to do here tonight, anyway?”

 

“Oh, so very little, my wolf. Prevent a catastrophe with the Regional Preternatural Investigative Team. Protect two employees from the wrath of their Ulfric. Keep everyone safe so that Ma Petite did not feel compelled to banish me from her bed, or perhaps take my head in a pique of temper.”

 

A shadow of a smile graced Richard’s lips. “The terrors of being the Master of the City?”

 

“Mon loup parle la vérité. Est-il prêt à vivre il ?”

 

“I’ve been learning French, Jean-Claude. And I’m tired of everyone telling me to change my life, to face the truth. I will not be forced into any action, regardless of what you or anyone else thinks. And stop calling me your wolf.”

 

“As you wish, Richard,” Jean-Claude placated. It was just another truth the Ulfric would come to terms with in time.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

"But MOM, it's not even 9:30 yet!" Kristin whined, tiny arms crossed

obstinately across her chest, her normally cherubic face scrunched up

in a dramatic pout. "I don't WANNA go to bed now! I'm not a baby

like Frankie; I'm almost seven, you know."

 

Katie sighed. Moving behind her little dark haired spitfire, she

lightly nudged her towards her bed. "I know it's a little early,

hon, but Mommy's tired and wants to go to sleep. Now be a good girl

and stop arguing. You don't want Santa to see you, now do you?"

 

Kristin slouched her way to her bed, grumbling, "Mommy, it's still

October! Santa isn't watching yet!"

 

Katie smiled at the scornful tone in her little girl's voice. The

exasperated, seven year old attitude of "don't try to pull a fast

one on me, Lady!" always tickled her funny bone.

 

She widened her eyes in mock outrage, and retorted, "What, you think

Santa only watches in December? He watches all year round! Ask your

father tomorrow, you'll see." She tucked the covers up under

Kristin's chin, and tweaked the tip of her nose. "And you know what

else? Santa makes extra sure the kids who are only good in December

to try to fool him just get coal for Christmas."

 

Katie pursed her lips together to keep from laughing at the look of

horror that crossed her little girl's face at that little tidbit of

information. Kristin was clever, like her father, and since that was

exactly what she was trying to pull the specter of a toyless

Christmas sounded plausible enough. A tiny voice whispered

back, "Really, Mommy?"

 

She bent down and kissed her daughter good night. "Really. So I

guess it's a good thing your such a wonderful little girl year round,

huh?"

 

Kristin smiled, and nodded her little head fervently in

agreement. "G'night Mom! Sleep tight and don't let the bedbugs bit!"

 

"Good night, sweetie. Pleasant dreams," Katie murmured as she dimmed

the lights and shut the bedroom door.

 

She hovered indecisively in the hallway, unsure what to do with

herself now that her darling offspring were tucked away for the

night. She'd been keyed up and edgy all evening, and knew nothing

was going to occupy her, so there was no sense in just staring at a

book or watching something mindless on TV. As reluctant as Kristin

had been, she walked to her room and her empty bed.

 

**********************************************************************

**

 

10:34pm

 

Katie lay on her back in bed, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. It

was the full moon, and Zee was following Richard that evening. It

might be hours before he came home, and it was going to be a

painfully long night of waiting and worrying. She'd tried the past

few days to talk him out of it, but ultimately there had been nothing

she could do to stop him. Zee loved his position in RPIT; loved the

challenge to his body and intellect, and more importantly he thought

this was important enough to see through. And she respected that.

May not like it, but she respected it. Not that she was that much

more at ease with the human crazies he had to deal with as a beat

cop, but this preternatural stuff he was hip deep into was going to

be the death of her.

 

She'd done what she could; all that was left was the waiting. And

praying.

 

10:35pm

 

Her lips barely moved as she softly recited the Hail Mary, over and

over again. She always prayed to the Virgin Mother when she was

frightened for her beloved, taking comfort and belief in the fact

that another woman would understand her fears, would empathize with

her dilemma of staying home while the man she loved risked his life

to do what he thought was right. Holy Mother of God, I think he's

bitten off more than he can chew this time. He's a good man, a good

cop, and I can't bear to lose him. Look out for him and keep him out

of harm's way where ever he is.

 

10:37pm

 

She heard the sound of an automobile coming down their street, and

her heart started pounding in anticipation that it was her crazy cop

husband coming home safe once again. But like every other time that

evening, the car traveled by, and the knot of anxiety in the pit of

her stomach clenched even tighter. Her thoughts turned briefly to

Jason, and she said a quick prayer for the boy's safety and success

that night as well. It was funny, picking as her champion a twenty

something werewolf stripper with a smart ass attitude and an astute

mind. Katie hadn't missed the look of apprehension that passed over

Jason's face when she had asked him to help. He'd quickly hidden it

from her, but she knew he thought following Zeeman was a mistake as

well. Please, Mary, Jesus, and any saint who feels like listening,

don't let anything happen to Jason tonight either. He's a good kid,

and too young for the stuff he deals with. Besides, I don't think

he's ready for heaven yet, I'd just bet he has some atoning to do,

and he'd only take over hell once he got there.

 

10:12pm

 

Katie took a deep breath to begin yet another prayer, when the sound

of an engine once again caught her attention. She tensed, expecting

yet another disappointment, but unable to stifle the hope that her

prayers had been answered and Zee had come safely back to her.

 

There. She let out a sob of relief as the illumination from the

headlights of a car tattooed the walls of the room. Zee was home.

Katie said a quick word of thanks to Mary, and a promise of a

devotion for answering her prayers, before she turned onto her side

to feign sleep. It was against the cop wife's code to let your

husband know how worried or terrified you were; support, yes. Extra

stress, never.

 

**********************************************************************

****

 

The house was dark, and quiet, as Zerbrowski locked the door behind

him. He'd done what he's set out to do and proven to himself that

Richard was a lycanthrope. But he felt hollow inside, his gut

gnawing at him that for the one puzzle he just solved, he had a whole

cultural mystery laid out before him to replace it.

 

It wasn't all that late, and he'd expected his wife to still be up.

He needed her to be up, because more than anything he wanted to see

her. To talk to her. The enormity of what he'd learned tonight, of

what almost had happened to him, was still echoing in his brain even

after the adrenaline had burned away.

 

He stopped in the middle of their darkened bedroom, wearily

unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt, and whispered, "You still up,

Katie girl? Kind of early to turn in, isn't it?"

 

Katie faked a yawn and a stretch, and rolled over on her back. She

held her arms up for a hug as she answered. "Kids went down easy

tonight, and I thought I'd hit the hay early and catch up on some

sleep," she lied, eyeing him up for any injuries. "Are you alright?

Did everything turn out the way you planned?"

 

Katie wanting a hug was never to be denied, and he leaned down and

cradled her in his arms. After a proper kiss hello, he sat on the

edge of the bed and kicked his shoes off. "I can't say it went the

way I expected," he snorted, "but yes, it did end up alright."

 

"Then you got the proof you wanted?" she questioned softly.

 

"I got the proof I wanted, and then some. I know irrefutably that

Richard is a werewolf. From his lips." He started to unbuckle his

shoulder harness, then just stopped as exhaustion suddenly

overwhelmed him. He rubbed his burning eyes, then just slumped over,

his head resting in his hands.

 

Katie sat up quickly, her arms snaking about his waist in a tight hug

of support. "Let me lock that up for you, babe. Get yourself

undressed and in bed." She slid the leather down his arms, pulling

the gun off of him and quickly stowing it away in the lockbox in

their closet. She looked back at Zee as he slowly stripped and got

into his pajama bottoms. Her favorites, and the ones he'd taken such

abuse over; the train ones. He wasn't hurt, she could see that. And

he wasn't upset. He just looked tired. Wrung out.

 

Zerbrowski slid into bed, and Katie spooned behind him. It was her

favorite sleeping position, cuddled up to his solid wall of warmth.

Now that he was home and safe, she was dying to know what had taken

place that night. She murmured into his back, "Do you want to talk

about it?"

 

There was a long silence, long enough that she thought he wasn't

going to answer, then a subdued, awed voice quietly said, "Katie,

it's huge, the werewolf society. They have structure, and culture,

hell even their own terms and phrases. And I think their numbers are

much, much larger than what we know. It still hasn't sunk in

completely; I'm trying to comprehend everything. To put it in

perspective. I didn't know; I just flat didn't know. I don't thing

anyone outside the preternatural community realizes the scope of

their society. And that's just the wolves. What about the other

lycanthropes? Micah's leopards, or the wererats?"

 

"Is that what's bothering you?" she asked, not comprehending what was

bothering him. "The fact that they have their own ways? Or is there

something more? What exactly happened to you this evening?"

 

"I did what I planned. I followed Richard. I figured…hell, I'm not

sure what I figured anymore, but I sure as hell didn't expect him to

leave the city for the forest. He went far into the woods, and I

ended up having to leave the car and go on foot." He felt Katie stir

behind him, and knew she was going to comment on that little

development. "Before you start lecturing, yes I know nature isn't

exactly my element. There was a path and I felt fairly comfortable I

would find my way out without breadcrumbs."

 

Katie made a disgusted sound. "Mom was right. I married an idiot.

You'd get lost in our own backyard if we had more trees."

 

"Thank you for that vote of confidence. Do you want to hear this or

not?" Zerbrowski huffed.

 

Katie made soothing noises, and motioned him to continue. "I'm

sorry. Keep talking. I have a feeling I'm not going to like what I

hear, but I have to know."

 

"It turned out fine. To get back to tonight, I was following the

path when it became obvious even to someone as nature challenged as

myself that I was being followed. And yes, I knew I was out of my

depth and aborted. But it was too late; I was attacked by a very

angry black furred werewolf in half-man form."

 

"Oh, sweet Jesus Zee…" Katie moaned. She had been right; she wasn't

happy about what she was learning.

 

Zerbrowski continued on, hardly hearing her comment. "I thought I

was dead, Katie. I was going to have to shoot the man, but I wasn't

packing silver rounds so I really had a snowball's chance in hell of

stopping him."

 

She shivered against his back. It had been close tonight, close

enough that he felt the need to confide in her about his fear. "So

what stopped him?"

 

"Ultimately Richard, and believe it or not a petite brunette woman

named Sylvie. But before they showed up, two other werewolves came

to my aid. A full grey wolf and a honey colored half wolf." He

paused, his voice taking on a perplexed note. "I didn't know who

they were at first, but I thanked God for them. They both took a

beating from the black werewolf, and could have been killed, but they

still defended me. You won't believe who they were."

 

Katie said nothing, just stilled against Zee's back. She knew she

didn't have to prompt him, that he would continue on. And she had a

pretty good idea who one of them was.

 

"Jason was the grey wolf. Stephen was the gold." He turned

slightly, looking over his shoulder so he could see his wife's

face. "Jason I know, and respect, but I would never have thought he

would risk his life for me. And after what I did to Stephen, for him

to do the same to help me just didn't make sense. And do you know

why he did it? Because he said he was my friend. Just because I was

Anita's and Jason's friend. That was good enough for him."

 

Katie smiled radiantly at the humble tone in her husband's voice, and

the wonder she saw in his eyes. Zee wasn't jaded by any means, but

it still took him by surprise sometimes when he found good in people

unexpectedly. As God as her witness, she vowed to give Jason the

biggest kiss of his life the next time she saw him; Stephen, too.

 

"He's good people, love. Werewolf, stripper, former prostitute, it

doesn't matter. He obviously has a gentle heart."

 

Zee lay back down. "Jason's a friend, and someone I would go to bat

for. Stephen is now too. I swear to you, I'm going to find a way to

make it up to the kid. I owe him a debt."

 

She tucked the covers closer around them, and settled into the well

of warmth their bodies made. The quiet was now comforting, and she

lay still, just enjoying his presence. After a moment, she asked

quietly, "Was it worth it, Zee?"

 

He thought about it a moment. He'd asked himself that same question

on the long ride home, and his answer still hadn't changed. "It was

worth it. We had a nice little conversation, Richard and I. Katie,

that man is strong, and smart, and can be a real leader if he can

just wrap his mind around the fact," he said, a hint of grudging

admiration in his voice. "I would never out a shifter, but Zeeman

needs to come out of the closet and take center stage. The

lycanthrope community could use another good public figure. Micah's

only one man, and the coalition takes up all of his time. They need

someone human, too. Someone public to act as a liaison to help

bridge the differences between the two species. They may be a

minority, but they could be a force to be reckoned with if they

stopped staying hidden in the shadows like criminals."

 

"So is it over now, Zee?"

 

"I don't think so, Katie girl. I think it's only just started," he

answered her sleepily, and she tensed at his tone. It sounded too

prophetic for her liking.

 

Zee yawned and continued. "Besides, I still have the grand opening

of fangface's new theater. There's a meeting in three nights of all

security and club workers that Jean-Claude's combining into a pre-

opening soiree."

 

He quieted for a moment, and Katie thought he'd drifted off to

sleep. She almost missed his last whispered question.

 

"One thing I just don't get, though," Zerbrowski mumbled quizzically,

as he hovered just on the edge of sleep. "How did Jason and Stephen

know I was there and needed help?"

 

She couldn't help the self satisfied smirk that crossed her face.

 

"Just lucky, I guess. Your guardian angel must have been looking out

for you tonight."


	14. Chapter Fourteen

It was always a joy to work with professionals, Zerbrowski thought,

as he and Claudia finalized the preparations for the opening night

Gala of Theatre de Sang. They were just completing the final walk

through of the club, and he was gratified with how smoothly it had

gone. He and Claudia had canvassed the entire theater, and

everything was up to their specs. Entrances and exits were well

marked and had specific security people assigned to them. All

shipments in for the kitchen, furniture, and theatrical supplies had

been gone over with a fine tooth comb. The guest list was finalized

and set in stone; there would be no last minute additions or

substitutions. No one was getting in or out who wasn't authorized.

The infrastructure was as secure as they could make it.

 

"It looks good, Lieutenant. No blind spots, and no weaknesses. This

house is clean."

 

Zerbrowski grinned up at the taller wererat. In the weeks they had

worked together, the two of them had developed a healthy respect for

each other's professionalism and knowledge. They'd also discovered

that they both had a passion for movies, and a game had developed

between them as a challenge to each others knowledge. Random dialog

from flicks was interspersed with everyday conversation, and it was

up to the other to identify the movie. It was an amusing and

challenging contest between two very competitive people, and helped

cement a friendship that both hoped lasted long after Theatre de Sang

opened.

 

"Poltergeist. The creepy psychic lady," Zee answered smoothly. Too

easy, Claudia, he thought as he smirked to himself. "I agree, the

suggestions we made to the schematics of the Theatre were followed

down to the smallest detail. I have to thank Jean-Claude; he gave us

carte blanche, and didn't bitch about any of the security concerns we

had. It's a pleasure working for someone who lets you do your job.

Outstanding. Now all we need is a deck of cards."

 

Claudia rolled her eyes. "Aliens. Just my favorite movie of all

time, and I since I had the hots for Michael Biehn, that wasn't much

of a challenge!" she scoffed.

 

He shrugged his shoulders, his arms up in a `hey, I tried!'

gesture. "You ready to give the final debriefing? All my people are

here, and it looks like there's a full house of shifters and vampires

present tonight."

 

"All the wererat security is attending, and there's a celebration

planned for the GED people. Everyone passed, so Richard and Jean-

Claude have cooked up a `graduation' party for them. It should be a

good time if you want to stick around," Claudia advised, clapping him

companionably on the shoulder.

 

He paused at that bit of news. "Richard's coming?" he asked

cautiously. "Are Stephen and Jason here as well?"

 

Claudia stopped walking, and stared back at him, a combined look of

curiosity and suspicion creasing her face at his unenthusiastic

tone. "They're all here. Why? Is that a problem for some reason?"

 

`You have no idea,' Zerbrowski thought. It would be the first time

he'd seen any of them, since that full moon night. Stephen and Jason

he owed thanks to; he owed Richard some space. He pressed the man

hard that night, and he doubted he was on Zeeman's buddy list at the

moment. "No, no problem. I'd like to say hi to Jason; hate to say

it, but I have a soft spot for that spunky pain in the ass. My squad

and I will leave after your final instructions and analysis. We

don't want to get in the way."

 

Claudia looked slightly disappointed, and nodded her head

reluctantly. "Your call, but I doubt there would be a problem with

you staying. All the rats are, and none of us went through the

program. I would however suggest you don't call Jason `spunky' when

he can hear it. He may be generally easy going, but he might feel

compelled to break you in half over that one."

 

Zerbrowski smiled at the image of an outraged furball coming at him.

He had to agree with her; no self-respecting man wanted to be

described as spunky. "I'll keep that in mind. And I'll extend the

invite to my people; if any of them want to stay, that's fine. It's

their time," he reasoned.

 

They'd reached the stage. Claudia shrugged, and effortlessly vaulted

up. "Like I said, it's your call, but you should hang out for a

while. Most of these people will be present on opening night, and it

might be a good idea for you to get to know them, and be comfortable

with them. Just a suggestion." She reached down and picked up a

bracelet and scanner from the stage floor. "Time to go over the

final details and game plan with our combined security people for the

big night." She held her hand out, and laughed at the wincing look

on his face. "Don't worry, I won't break any bones. You haven't said

anything stupid to piss me off this time. It's been a real pleasure,

Lieutenant. If you ever want to retire and get into the bodyguard

business, the Rats would be happy to make you an honorary member and

welcome you into our employ. Hell, I think our king would even be

willing to bring you into the fold if you wanted."

 

Zerbrowski paled, and squirmed slightly as he shook Claudia's hand.

He liked and respected the wererat, and didn't want to insult her,

but being a shifter was the last thing on his wish list. "Umm, no

offense, and thanks…"

 

She laughed, a pleasant, infectious belly laugh, and answered for

him, "Thanks, but no thanks? No offense taken. Consider it an honor

I extended the invitation. Oh, and I see Jason and Stephen over at

the bar with Jean-Claude and Damian, if you're interested." She

stood up, stretching to her full height as she straightened her

cuffs, and deadpanned, "Do you know the difference between you and

me? I make this look good."

 

He shook his head as he turned away. Just like a shifter to be

egotistical. "Modest, very modest. Go make yourself useful and

address the troops," Zerbrowski scoffed as he headed over to grab a

seat. He only took a few steps before her last sentence clicked in

his mind. Why that sneaky… He hurriedly turned and called out her

name.

 

"Claudia!"

 

The tall wererat whirled back around, black ponytail flying, and the

corners of her mouth twitched with a repressed smile as she waited to

see if he'd caught the reference.

 

Zerbrowski jerked his chin in her direction. "Thought you had me,

didn't you? Men in Black!" he chortled, hands beckoning in a `bring

it on gesture.'

 

Damn, she thought, almost tripped him up. Smiling sweetly, she

flipped him off and grabbed the stage microphone to give a final

briefing of the night's efforts.

 

The mingled crowd hushed as they noticed the Claudia's imposing

figure striding to the front of the stage. "Could I have everyone's

attention, please?" she said, her voice authoritative and

sure. "Thank you. You all have your assignments for the big night,

and I was very pleased with everyone's responses to today's practice

session to get you all comfortable with your positions and duties.

As you have noticed, you also have been assigned bar code scanners,

and I want to go over their use now. They are high tech, and

innovative, but I don't want you to think they are intimidating or

difficult to use."

 

"We were wondering about these," Fredo called out, holding up the

small black device he'd been given. "What exactly will we scanning?"

 

Claudia nodded her head appreciatively. Fredo was quiet, but clever,

and he hated to waste time. All of which gave her a good segue to

the meat of the devices. "Good question. In the event of a

catastrophic event, the Lieutenant and I want to be able to quickly

ascertain if all the guests and workers are safe. Everyone, and I do

mean everyone will be issued a barcoded bracelet. In the event an

evacuation is necessary, any attendees or employees that you become

responsible for, as soon as you get them to a secure area, you are to

scan the codes. Each of the PDA's you've been assigned are all

networked to the PCs Lieutenant Zerbrowski's team will be using to

log everyone in as they arrive. Once scanned, we'll know instantly

who's missing."

 

He couldn't place the voice, but someone from the back of the room

called out, "How credible is the threat of attack that night? It

seems that these are some mighty stringent precautions based simply

on the prior attack here of some HAV bigots."

 

It was a valid question, and Zerbrowski had been waiting for someone

to bring it up. He and Claudia had been a little surprised

themselves with how encouraging Jean-Claude had been about protecting

the theatre that opening night. The vampire had been adamant about

keeping track of the invitees, and about having top level security

measures and personnel for the festivities. It was a subject they

had been curious, and slightly uneasy about, themselves, but had come

to the conclusion that if Jean-Claude wanted it, then by God Jean-

Claude was going to get it. If he was privy to information that he

wasn't inclined to pass onto them, it wasn't like he was letting them

go into the night unprepared.

 

Claudia answered the question honestly and diplomatically, without

coming out and saying she wasn't exactly sure why the cagey vampire

was insisting on all of the safety measures.

 

"The Master of the City wants to be prepared to circumvent or deal

with any untoward occurrence. That's the reason for all the

precautions." Which effectively ended that line of questioning.

 

Smith raised his hand, and asked, "I'm figuring you're using WIFI,

but what's the range, and is it secure enough that it can't be

tampered with?" Smith was the rookie detective in RPIT, but was

young and tech savvy, and unafraid to voice his opinions.

 

"Both good questions, Detective. Glad to see RPIT is up on newer

developments." She gave the young man a shrewd stare. "This is not

a commercial grade system. I still have some para-military

connections, and it is government issue. And before you open your

mouth, these are a definite `don't ask, don't tell' bunch of people,

but I made sure this isn't classified technology. It's on the up and

up."

 

"And if one of the beautiful people refuse to wear the bracelet?"

Zerbrowski questioned, one eyebrow arched sarcastically. When she

had first brought up the use of the bracelets, he hadn't been worried

about the quality of the equipment, or if it was legal or not.

Claudia was too professional to allow anything of sub-standard

quality jeopardize her mission. He was more concerned with a high

society type throwing a tizzy about having to wear the item, and that

they would cave and allow people to refuse.

 

Claudia nodded respectfully at the Master of the City, deferring

final judgment to him. His word would carry more weight in this than

hers. "Sir?"

 

Jean-Claude never altered his position from where he lounged against

the ornate bar, but his voice echoed with all the command he was

capable of. "There will be no exceptions. If they decline to wear

the bracelet, they will be denied admittance. While I do not

anticipate anything more than an outstanding theatrical effort and an

enjoyable evening, I will not compromise the safety of my guests

purely due to a fashion statement."

 

A barking laugh sounded from his side, and a familiar voice

quipped, "Now that's a sentence I never thought I'd hear you say,

Jean-Claude! Haute Couture is as necessary to your existence as

blood!" It was Jason, of course. As if there was any one else brash

enough to make that sort of comment and live. The group broke out in

grins and outright hilarity from his very astute observation.

 

Jean-Claude reached back and cuffed his wolf lightly on the side of

the head. "Merde, but you are a disrespectful cub! I truly despair

of even teaching you proper manners. I should take you over my knee."

 

Jason couldn't even manage a properly chagrined look. He just leered

as he patted his butt invitingly. "Ok, anything to please, but

normally this is Nathaniel's kink."

 

Jean-Claude fought to keep the smile from his face. "Ah, and will

you remember those brave words later, Mon Loup, when we are alone and

I have fed once again?"

 

Jason paled slightly, and winced. Jean-Claude's eyes were hooded,

and he was obviously amused, but it crossed his mind that it was

entirely possible that he may have pushed things a little far this

time. He looked at his master, then relaxed. Nah, never. Besides,

how hot would a spanking from that man be? He gave a little shiver

at the image in his mind. Not good, not now; time to get the meeting

back on track. "Umm, Jean-Claude, maybe we should let Claudia finish

here?"

 

Jean-Claude laughed, the sound caressing everyone within earshot, and

sending shivers of delight through any that heard. "How quickly you

change the subject, little wolf. Pardonnez-moi, Claudia. I did not

mean to derail your presentation. Please continue."

 

"Thank you, Jean-Claude, but I believe you answered the Lieutenant's

last question to everyone's satisfaction and understanding. No

bracelet, no entry, no exceptions." She turned back to the seated

men and women. "Very good then. If no one has any other issues,

then the party can begin!"

 

**********************************************************************

***

 

Zerbrowski wandered slowly up to the bar, trying to make it a point

to greet or make a comment to everyone he passed. Claudia was right,

and he'd decided to stay awhile, at least for appearances sake. More

to the point, he wanted to thank his saviors personally. He couldn't

just leave without saying something to the two young werewolves. An

acknowledgement of his appreciation. An indication of how deeply

touched he was by what they had done for him. He grinned to

himself. A smack in the head to Jason for shoving his nose in his

jewels.

 

He grabbed a stool a few feet away from the blonde stripper and the

red haired vampire, and asked for a soda from the bartender. Jason

and Damian were deep in conversation, their heads close together in

animated talk.

 

"Has she said anything to you yet?" Jason questioned. "Or has Jean-

Claude? It's been too long."

 

Damian shook his head worriedly, and asked, "Not a suggestion. And

you? Surely your master has mentioned something, or at least rebuked

you for the stunt."

 

Jason ran a hand through his short hair in aggravation, and

groaned, "Not a peep. Not that I think he would be annoyed with it

on principle, since he agrees with us. But something's brewing, and

I'm afraid we're going to bear the brunt of it."

 

"I sense no anger from Anita, though," Damian reflected. "Actually,

they are both acting as if it never occurred."

 

"She'll be here tonight," Jason mused, tapping his fingers

rhythmically on the counter as he deliberated aloud. " Should you

say something to her when she gets here?"

 

Damian shook his head negatively. "Poor tactics. Never admit a

weakness, or concede the enemy the upper hand."

 

"Once a Viking, always a Viking," Jason snorted. "But it doesn't get

you any closer to your goal, you know. Are you planning something

tonight?"

 

Zerbrowski had no clue what they were discussing, but he'd

eavesdropped long enough. Clearing his throat, he turned to Jason

and asked, "Where did Stephen wander off to? I wanted to talk to the

two of you before I went home."

 

Jason grinned at him, an honest, happy to see you smile that warmed

him all over again. The boy had a way of worming into your defenses,

not that he was complaining. "He's around here somewhere." Jason

squinted as he glanced around the darkened room. "Ok, over there,

with his brother talking to Evariste. I think he's looking to try to

get a position doing the troupes makeup, sort of as a part time job

other than stripping. Hang tight, I'll call him over," he said,

raising his hand to try to attract his pack member's attention.

 

A commotion at the front of the room made him pause. Damian

interrupted, "It may have to wait. I believe Richard and Jean-Claude

are getting ready to speak. And Anita has arrived. Nathaniel is

with her as well, Jason." His emerald green eyes took on a distant,

unfocussed look, and then a smile creased his face. "Excuse me, but

she calls. I will speak with you later."

 

Zee stared at the vampire's receding back. What the hell did he

mean, she calls? There was an odd connection between the vampire and

the executioner, but damned if he was going to poke his nose that far

into that one. He'd learned his lesson with Zeeman.

 

He turned back to Jason. "So what the hell were the two of you up

to?"

 

"Nothing," Jason replied innocently, an angelic expression plastered

to his face. Zerbrowski gave him a dubious look at his answer, and

he quickly amended it to "well, nothing that bad, anyway. Just a

little nudge to Anita to remind her of a promise."

 

"A nudge. That involves the Master of the City and Blake," he

answered, skepticism dripping from his voice. Damn, but his

curiosity was going to be the death of him. "Come on, boy, spill."

 

Jason grimaced. The Lieutenant had no idea about Damian being

Anita's vampire servant, or that it was Damian's goal to once again

taste beer through his mistress. The marks, and ability to taste

through the connection, was too overwhelming a concept to convey in

ten sentences or less. Which was about all the time he had before

Richard started pontificating.

 

"Let me `splain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up. Damian

wants to taste beer once again through Anita and she's balking

because she despises the taste."

 

"Princess Bride," Zerbrowski replied automatically. It was a reflex

from the competition, even if Jason was only using the quote to be

funny. "But how can he…"

 

His Ufric was clearing his throat on stage, and Jason was spared

having to come up with an understandable explanation. "Shush.

Richard's starting to talk."

 

Zerbrowski looked around. Maybe it was time to make a quick exit,

before the powerful werewolf spotted him.

 

Jason seemed to read his mind, and grinned maniacally. "Too late.

If you made a break for it now, he'd spot you for sure. And I'm

guessing you're avoiding him?" he teased. "Besides, I thought you

wanted to talk to Stephen and me?"

 

"You are a fourteen carat little bastard, aren't you?" Zee whispered

back fiercely. But the pup was right; leaving now would only draw

attention to himself. He sipped his soda and looked up to the stage

where Richard was beginning to speak.

 

"Thank you, everyone. While opening night is going to be exciting,

tonight is a celebration as well. Through their own perseverance,

and hard work, and with the help and support of Jean-Claude, I'm

proud to tell everyone that Damian, Buzz, Stephen, Nathaniel and

Gregory have all succeeded in passing the Missouri GED test, and are

now proud possessors of High School Diplomas. I'm sorry we couldn't

do a proper `Pomp and Circumstance' for you, but I'm sure this party

will more than make up for that."

 

Loud applause and whistles accompanied Richard's announcement.

Nathaniel was beaming, and Gregory, the man who professed not to care

about the whole endeavor, was high fiving anyone who would

accommodate him. Richard grinned, happy at the news he was able to

pass on. "Ok, settle down everyone. We're not quite through yet.

Jean-Claude has an announcement as well."

 

Jean-Claude gave an elegant bow from the neck, thanking Richard for

his introduction, then turned to the gathered group. "I cannot

express how proud I am of all who diligently earned their degrees

under Richard's tutelage. Education is never useless, and never

wasted. I hope they will continue to further their learning, and I

will support any who do." He paused for a moment, more for dramatic

impact then to catch his breath or train of thought. "As you know,

Theatre de Sang is in need of a manager. I am proud to announce to

you that Damian will be filling that position."

 

Anita spontaneously hugged Nathaniel, then pushed him off in the

direction of Jason. Damian stood behind her, a smile softening his

features as various people came up to congratulate him. Zerbrowski

watched as Anita turned to him, her hands cradling his face before

she leaned in to kiss him tenderly on the lips. She whispered

something in his ear then, something that broadened the vampire's

smile into a deep laugh before he nodded and went off to a side table

with her.

 

Jason beamed. "Not that I didn't suspect they'd all done well, but

it's nice to hear they all passed. And it looks like Anita's giving

Damian his graduation present. Or maybe it's a promotion gift," he

laughed. "Doesn't matter. The man actually wore her down!"

 

Curious, Zerbrowski glanced over at the table. His jaw dropped in

amazement as he saw what the waitress was placing in front of the

Executioner. "Did she actually order a beer?" he asked incredulously.

 

"Not a BEER, you heathen, an ALE," Jason lectured, smiling. "For

Damian, to see if he can taste through her yet."

 

"How can he taste…never mind, forget I asked. It's just more weird

shit that I'm better off not knowing," Zerbrowski amended, holding

up his hands in a warding gesture. He looked over at the little

booth they were sitting in, and damned if Anita was sipping on the

beer the waitress had placed in front of her. He would have been

more amazed at her choice of beverage, if he hadn't caught the

expression on Damian's face.

 

Pure rapture.

 

Damian's eyes were closed, and his head was thrown back. The

expression gracing his face was bliss. Zee watched as his tongue

caressed his upper lip, like he was licking the foam from a long

draught of beer. And Anita's look was even more revealing; whether

she was channeling the redhead's enjoyment, or had somehow

spontaneously developed a love of hops and barely, he didn't know,

but she her expression was orgasmic as the vampire's.

 

He shook his head in awe. "Damn, but that looks almost obscene."

 

"Hey, you be denied one of your favorite things for over a thousand

years and see if you don't sport a woody when you finally get to have

it again," Jason chuckled.

 

"That's his first taste of beer in ten centuries? No wonder he looks

like he does. And he can do that through Anita." He so wanted to

ask for an explanation, but he'd promised Katie not to be so damn

curious all the time. And this seemed so innocent. But it didn't

explain Blake's look.

 

"So why is Anita looking so happy about this? She despises the taste

of alcohol."

 

Jason shrugged. "Maybe she's getting feedback from Damian too. Just

as well, because if she was hating the whole experience it would have

been another couple of hundred years before he got to experience that

again."

 

Zerbrowski bit his tongue. Another time, he lectured himself. Maybe

another time. He had a more pressing matter to attend to.

 

He searched the room, looking for a certain blonde werewolf. Ah,

over there. Still talking to the dark skinned vampire dancer, but

short one twin. Perfect.

 

"STEPHEN!" he called, his arm up in a wave so the wolf would be able

to find him at the bar. The boy looked around, curious as to who had

called out. His face crinkled into a confused smile as he spotted

Zerbrowski waving. He clasped the vampires arm, obviously excusing

himself, and made his way over.

 

"Hello, Lieutenant," he said softly. "Hey, Jason. What's up?"

 

Jason made room for him at the bar, and slid a beer over in front of

him. "I don't know. The Z-man wanted to chat with us. So what did

you want, Zerbrowski?"

 

"To thank the two of you. I never had a chance to after you both

saved my bacon. I'm not sure how you knew, but if you hadn't jumped

in I was going to be in a world of hurt. I owe you both, you

especially Stephen. I don't know how you managed to forgive me, let

alone risk your safety for me. I'm honored you consider me a friend,

and I want you to know that you mine as well. If you need me, I'm

there. Anytime, anywhere."

 

Stephen blushed, unused to simple, honest pronouncements of

friendship, but welcoming the warm protective feeling his words

engendered. "I didn't hold it against you, Lieutenant. I never

could. But I'm glad and proud you say we're friends."

 

Uncharacteristically serious, Jason opined, "Yeah, well, I owed you

for not letting Storr give me a one way ticket to shifter purgatory.

I don't think I'd have fit in at one of those lycanthrope prisons.

Besides, I like you, you big lug. And I happen to be a fan of

Katie's as well."

 

"And Katie's a fan of yours, too, apparently," Stephen enthused. "If

she hadn't paid for a lap dance to talk to Jason, Lieutenant, we'd

never have known what you were up to."

 

Utterly shocked, Zerbrowski rounded on a certain deer trapped in the

headlights blonde werewolf. "Katie did WHAT? She went to Guilty

Pleasures? To see you?"

 

Stunned, all Jason could do was shake his head in exasperation. He

shot his friend a appalled look. "You know, there was a valid reason

the Z-man singled you out to pump for information. You freaking

spill your guts at the drop of a hat!"


	15. Chapter Fifteen

"Ah, Katie girl, you are too good to me," Zerbrowski crooned happily as he entered the kitchen, the homey smell of halupkies wafting through the comfortably warm room. The stuffed cabbages were his favorite, and his stomach began to grumble in anticipation. No one made the meal like his wife did, not even his sainted mother, an opinion he wisely kept to himself for the sake of domestic harmony.

 

Katie turned around, and gave him a radiant smile. He was going to have a long night tonight, and she always felt better when she sent him off with a full belly, and topped off with the case of the guilt's she was having, his favorite meal was the least she could do. He was going to be spending the evening outside on police and guard duty, while she was inside Theatre de Sang being wined, dined, and entertained. Not guilty enough to cancel, mind you; just enough to cook him a hearty dish and pick up a case of Red Stripe for him. Zee had acquired a taste for the Jamaican beer from their honeymoon, and every so often she'd buy him some as a special treat or pointed reminder of their wedding vows.

 

"Hey, Mom always said the same thing, so I guess that's the first thing you've ever agreed on," she teased as she carefully finished mashing the potatoes. She'd treated herself to a manicure and pedicure that afternoon, and she was careful not to ruin her new acrylic nails. Truth was, she was excited about playing dress up with the rich and famous, and was looking forward to an enjoyable evening of people watching and pampering.

 

Zee laughed as he came up behind her, turning her around to face him for a kiss. "I thought she always said I was an idiot?" he quipped, gliding his hands down to give her butt a quick squeeze as he gave her tender peck on the nose.

 

"That too, sweetie. Mom has a whole laundry list of nicknames for you. Surprisingly, none of them are flattering," she said mock quizzically. Her mother's opinion of her husband meant absolutely nothing to her; she was the one who chose him for better or worse, and she never regretted a second of their marriage together, or felt any less in love with him from the day they met.

 

Still holding her hips, Zee began to gyrate in front of her in one of the most pathetic displays of dancing she had ever been unfortunate enough to witness. "Come on, how about I give you that lap dance you never got from furball?" he teased. Shortly after Stephen had let the proverbial cat out of the bag, Jason had stammered out the whole story, up to and including her (in his words) `vicious and unprovoked attack upon his ear' and his adamant refusal to explain the meaning of a `Happy Ending', a definition he was glad to demonstrate to her when he got home that night.

 

He gave her a `come hither' look, and sleazed at her, "Extra fifty and I'll rock your world at the end!"

 

With a laugh, she pushed him away, and carried the bowl of potatoes to the table. "Get a grip, before I'm struck blind! JASON can dance; you just look spastic!" she laughed. "Do me a favor, will you? Get the kids fed while I take a nice long bubble bath for the show tonight. It's early, but I want to take my time and look good for all the stud muffins that will be there, and this way I'll be able to get the little monsters settled and in bed before the babysitter shows up."

 

Her eldest child took that moment to come crashing into the kitchen, her Halloween costume Wonder Woman cape flaring out dramatically behind her. Out of breath, she panted, "MOM! MOM! Guess what? A big shiny car pulled up and a really pretty man is bringing you your dry cleaning and I saw him first so I came in to let you know!" She beamed happily at being able to impart such obviously important news to her parents.

 

Zee looked over at his wife, completely befuddled at what his offspring was trying to tell him. "Um, Katie, did anything Kristin just blurted out mean anything to you?"

 

"Haven't a clue," she shrugged, then grinned mischievously at him. "But, considering you're the policeman and all, don't you think it's your job to go take a peek?"

 

"Should I be packing when I do?" he asked seriously, patting under his arms as though he was searching for his shoulder harness.

 

Katie's scathing retort was interrupted as the doorbell reverberated throughout the house. It was a quick ring, almost hesitant. Whoever he was, Zee thought, he certainly didn't sound threatening.

 

"Hold on, I'm coming!" he yelled as he crossed the living room. His son Frankie was pouting on the couch, a dark scowl on his otherwise chipper face, and he paused long enough to ask, "Who peed in your cornflakes, boy?"

 

Toddler indignation roiled out of the small body. "I saw him first, Daddy! I wanted to tell you, but Kristy said she'd punch me if I told, and she got to tell you. Not fair!" he wailed, the injustice of it all offending his four year old sensibilities.

 

Let's have another kid, Zee. They'll be close enough in age to play with each other….. "Damn it, Katie, talk to that girl about her violent tendencies! I don't want to have another Executioner in the fold, if you know what I mean!" he yelled over his shoulder as he pulled open the front door.

 

A familiar blonde was standing patiently on his front step, a garment bag draped over one arm, and a case held in the other. What the fuck was Stephen doing here?

 

"Stephen! Can I help you with something?"

 

Bright cornflower blue eyes crinkled in amusement as Stephen waited patiently just outside the door. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant, but Jean-Claude told me to stop here with the Limo and some things for Katie. Can I come in please?"

 

"What? Oh, sorry. Sure, come on in." He stood aside, allowing the smaller man to maneuver by him. He glanced outside; sure enough, a shiny black stretch limo was parked in front of his humble abode. It was a safe bet the neighbors were buzzing right now.

 

Katie was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, a slight perplexed smile on her face. Zee realized that, even though he'd talked about the boy extensively, she'd never met Stephen before.

 

"Katie, this is Stephen," he introduced as he closed the front door. "Stephen, my better half, Katie."

 

Damn, Katie thought, Zee was right. That boy looks like a good wind would blow him over. And he still managed to save my husband.

 

"Hi, Mrs. Zerbrowski. Pleased to meet you. Sorry to interrupt you at home, but I have a message for you," he said, shouldering his way past a startled Zerbrowski and going to one knee in front of her. He looked back apologetically at Zerbrowski. "Jean-Claude was very specific on how he wanted this delivered."

 

Turning back to a very startled Katie, he said, "My Lady, Jean-Claude wished me to convey this to you," and removed an elegant envelope from inside his shirt, holding it out to her like an offering.

 

Zerbrowski's jaw dropped at what happened next. Katie, his tough, no nonsense, sensible Katie, giggled like a schoolgirl as she took the proffered letter. She opened it, and her jaw dropped in amazement as she read the contents.

 

"Come on now, Katie. Spill. What does he have to say?" he grilled, more then curious as to what the vampire could possibly have written to reduce his wife to her current state of awe.

 

"He apologizes again for taking up so much of your time, and thanks me for my patience and understanding. He also sent over the ticket, and a Limo, and, oh my GOD…" she gasped, her jaw dropping. She looked at him mutely, in shock.

 

Now what had that suave bastard done? "WHAT???"

 

"Since he knows that you can't professionally accept gifts for your assistance, he wants to express his appreciation through me. He hopes I find the evening gown and jewelry he sent over acceptable, and that a woman as beautiful as a Queen deserved to be treated as one for a night." As she finished reading, Stephen unwrapped the garment bag, revealing a stunning, dark lavender jersey gown that was cut deeply in the back, and sewn so that it would fit like a glove. She could feel the saliva building in her mouth at the thought of wearing such an elegant dress. And damn, she was vain enough to know she'd look hot in it as well. Please God, let it fit..

 

She cleared her throat. "Ah, what size is it, Stephen?"

 

"A size five. Jason was the most familiar with you and that was his best estimate. I have a size higher and lower in the Limo just in case, and I also have matching shoes in a few different sizes as well. Oh, and this," he said excitedly, pulling a jewelry case from the carryall at his feet. She gasped aloud as she opened the velvet container to reveal a beautiful matched set necklace and earrings. Diamonds, of course.

 

She couldn't stop herself. She squealed like teenager. "Oh my GOD, Zee. Do you see these! Gorgeous doesn't cover it!"

 

Zerbrowski was tickled to see his wife this excited, but he was also slightly affronted by the gift. "Kind of old fashioned, don't you think? And what, does he think I can't provide nice things for Katie on my own? Is he afraid we're too `common' and are going to embarrass him?" He was working himself into a tizzy, and knew he sounded peevish, but damn it, he was the man of the house, wasn't he? If anyone was going to get his woman diamonds, it was going to be him!

 

Stephen stood quickly, shaking his head in denial. "No, Lieutenant, it's not like that, honestly! Mrs. Zerbrowski could show up in sweats and a t-shirt and he would treat her like royalty. He's just grateful for her patience and he admires her will and cleverness. It's just his way of being nice."

 

Zerbrowski glanced back over at his wife, and cringed. Storm clouds were forming on her previously happy face. Katie was fuming, and he prepared himself for the backlash.

 

It wasn't a long wait. "Stop being an ass, Zee. Even if you want to take insult, which by the way I'm sure you wouldn't if Anita had sent the dress, it's not the boy's fault he's the messenger." She could understand his attitude, sort of, but her normally amiable husband always seemed to get his back up when it came to the Master of the City.

 

Katie turned back the somewhat agitated young werewolf, and asked politely, "Are you going to be my driver as well, Hon?"

 

Stephen looked relieved at the change of subject, and quickly answered her. "No, Ma'am. I have to work tonight. Ernie's heading over with my car from Guilty Pleasures, and he's going to be your driver. I just brought the Limo from the Circus, and came early to help you get dressed and do your hair and make-up." He smiled at her happily. "I'm really good at it, if you want me to. I do all the acts at Pleasures, and I've even done up Anita." He smiled at her proudly. "Now that I have my GED, I'm going to enroll in a cosmetology school to learn that trade."

 

Feeling a little like an ignored brat, Zerbrowski piped up, "Stripping pays pretty good, huh?" and was instantly contrite at his sarcastic comment. Damn it, what was it about the boy that made you feel like you had free rein to kick him?

 

Stephen seemed oblivious to the caustic quality of the comment. "Well, it does, but Jean-Claude said he'd pay for it. He's really good to those he feels responsible for, if you're loyal and work hard."

 

"Must be a French Aristocracy thing," Zerbrowski opined, still half-heartedly trying to take offense over the whole affair.

 

"I don't think so. Not that it's been said, but it's common knowledge among the staff that Jean-Claude was a whipping boy as a child. I think that's why he's so fair with his workers. He's been on the other side." He looked crestfallen. "I'm sorry you're angry. I thought it would be something nice to do for her."

 

Zerbrowski knew he was overreacting, but damn it, he wished he could be the one to give her those things. Still, he had no call and an apology was in order. "Shit, go ahead. I'm just being a caveman idiot. I apologize to the both of you." He grinned sheepishly at his wife, who was busy rolling her eyes and shaking her head. He wasn't entirely out of line, though; expensive gifts like the jewelry would be frowned upon by Internal Affairs. "I am sorry about something else, Katie. The necklace…"

 

"And earrings have to go back," she finished for him. "I've been married to you long enough to know what will fly, my jealous man in blue!" she chided, giving him a gentle pat on the cheek.

 

Zerbrowski smiled in relief. He really didn't know how she put up with him. "The dress is fine, though, as long as it fits. Did the furball pick right? I guess he got close enough to read your size tag that night he gave you a lap dance. Oh, that's right, he never really gave you one, now did he?" he teased.

 

"Now Zee, we've been over that. And a lady never tells. Jason's no more than twenty-three, so I could hardly admit to getting up close and personal with that taut little physique of his," she said primly, batting her eyelashes at her instantly suspicious husband.

 

Zerbrowski groaned. "You're killing me, you know that?"

 

"Just go feed yourself and the kids, Zee," she shooed. "I still need to have my bath, and I can't keep the kid hanging around waiting for me all night to do my hair and makeup. And while your at it, fill a plate for Stephen as well. He needs more meat on his bones."

 

"Ma'am, yes Ma'am! C'mon kids, Mom has spoken. Stephen, settle your stuff and get in here. You're in for a treat." As soon as her brood disappeared back into the kitchen, Katie wrapped her arms around Stephen and gave him a huge hug and kiss.

 

Stephen smiled, a little taken aback by the affection. "What was that for, Mrs. Zerbrowski?"

 

"It's Katie, and it's a thank you. For helping Jason, for risking yourself for my husband, and for primping me up tonight. You're a sweetie. I know Zee's appointed himself as your friend and kind of protector, and I want you to know I'm right there with him. You're family now." Katie smiled at the young man. It felt good to do something nice for him.

 

"And you know what else? You open up a salon, and I swear to God I'm your first loyal client! "


	16. Chapter Sixteen

The darkened theatre was quiet, still empty of guests, but thrumming with anticipation of the upcoming grand event. The only noise to be heard was the muffled sound of the arriving troupe and the kitchen employees toiling away creating the massive quantities of hors d’oeuvres required for the evening. Members of the orchestra were wandering in, preparing their stations and readying themselves for the night’s entertainment. There was a sense of tenseness to the building, the stress to perform successfully palpable in the air. A stress that was not limited to the actors and other employees. Jean-Claude, Master Vampire of the city and proud owner of Theatre de Sang, sat unhappily in his private box, Anita nestled comfortably against him.

 

As much as he was enjoying the solitude of the moment, he had to disturb it with a question. The same question he had been asking her daily these past few months. “Ma Petite, have you heard anything additional from your oh so vague vargamor friend?” he whispered, his breath tickling the side of her face.

 

Anita sighed. She could hear the tautness in Jean-Claude’s voice, and she could feel the tenseness in his muscles, but there was nothing more she could relate to him. She rolled her neck to loosen her back and shoulders, and answered him with a weak smile. “I’m sorry, Jean-Claude, but I’ve passed on everything Marianne read in the cards. She couldn’t tell me anything concrete because there are too many players in this for her to be able to read any specifics into it. Just the major and minor Arcana I told you about – The Moon, the Devil, the Hierophant, the Hanged Man, and the Ten of Swords. ‘Out of deceit and disaster, an enemy is revealed and through sacrifices there is renewal. All of it is inescapable, and according to her, ‘it’s all good. It can’t be stopped, it can’t be avoided.”

 

Jean-Claude kept his face impassive, but internally he was seething. Soothsayers were worthless in his mind, but then again, only a fool tries to challenge destiny. Merde, but so much was riding on the word of a tarot card reader. Ever the diplomat, he reasoned, “Fate is an unkind mistress, and I respect those that commune with her, but I must admit I find that I dislike psychics. So, it is all centered around Theatre de Sang; I cannot stop whatever is set in motion, and can only try to prepare and deal with the consequences. Merveilleux. And you are certain she had nothing more to offer me?”

 

Anita winced. It wasn’t like she had been any happier with the conversation. Marianne’s call had come out of the blue, immediately on the heels of the initial attack on Jason.

 

“Stop trying to control everything, Anita. The Fates don’t like people who try to compete with them for their job,” her voice chided over the phone.

 

Anita winced at the tone and the truth of her words. “I know, I know, I have to keep my nose out of things and let people have their lives, even if they get hurt,” she answered dejectedly. “But damn it, Marianne, it’s hard. Guess there’s a good reason I don’t have children, beyond the obvious job and love life impediments. I’d keep the kid in a bubble to try to keep him safe.”

 

Marianne laughed, a warm motherly sound that Anita always found calming. “Well, that’s good to know, but a lecture about interfering isn’t the only reason I called. The cards have been nagging me, and every time I lay out a reading the same things come up, and they all seem to be centering around the Ace of Wands. A new business venture, Jean-Claude, and a lot of sorrow before a revelation of good.”

 

“For who? Whose cards are involved?”

 

“No ones. Everyone’s. It’s vague, but insistent. Oh, and one more thing…”

 

‘Yeah’, Anita thought, ‘The one more thing she couldn’t pass it on to Jean-Claude.” He was irritated enough with the innocuous card reading warning, and the necessity of obeying a woman he’d never met predictions, without adding in a little private message. Hell, she wasn’t very pleased with it either.

 

“What’s going to happen is inevitable. This isn’t your battle, or your show. Let the others handle it for a change. Support but don’t interfere, even if it tears you up inside.”

 

In other words, Anita mused dejectedly, keep her control freak tendencies firmly under wraps, and let someone else take charge. Angry with herself and the situation, she stood and gazed out at the empty theatre, half tempted to tell Jean-Claude the future be damned, and to call the whole thing off. She’d actually opened her mouth, the words forming at the back of her throat, when twin sensations suffused her senses. The scent of the deep forest, of fur and belonging, of pack filled her brain with comfort and happiness. Hard on the heels of wolf, was the tang of leopard, of her mate, and sex, and protection. Of calmness and safety.

 

Relaxation seeped through her muscles, and a sense of well being and warmth, of rightness, soothed her soul. She turned back to Jean-Claude, and remarked softly, “Richard and Micah are here.”

 

“And so it begins,” Jean-Claude breathed reluctantly, his voice barely audible.

 

Anita shrugged and offered her hand to the seated vampire. “It’s show time.”

 

***********************************************************************

 

Zerbrowski paced between guest stations, his eyes constantly tracking the parking lot for any sign of a problem, all of his senses resonating on high alert. He felt edgy, anticipatory, and he couldn’t tell if it was the cooler evening air, too much caffeine, or if he was picking up on all the preternatural vibes churning like a gusty wind throughout the area. It didn’t matter, really, and he took a deep breath to center himself. Whatever was making his spidey sense tingle, he was ready for it.

 

He paused as he spotted Claudia approaching, her long legs striding purposefully across the asphalt. The tall wererat looked about as keyed up as he felt. She nodded a curt greeting to him before getting immediately down to business. “How are things out here, Lieutenant?” Claudia asked in a clipped voice. She was the consummate professional this opening night, her hair plaited back in a severe French braid, her all black body guard uniform accenting her aura of authority. Zerbrowski had always thought her imposing enough, but when she put her mind to it she could make some of the more scary things out there quail.

 

He took a sip of his coffee, and leaned down to enter a command on the laptop. “Ninety percent of the guests have checked in, and it all went five by five. Not a single peep out of anyone, not that I expected it with how Jean-Claude gussied up the bracelets. He has put out one hell of a lot of dough on this soiree. Anyway, the Mayor and his wife were the last of the A-list VIPs to arrive. What do you want to do about the no-shows?”

 

“We’ll have to run a threat analysis on them, and make some phone calls to find out why. Who do you have so far?” she asked, and before he could answer she was leaning over his shoulder reading the list he’d called up.

 

“Detective Marcal of the local PD. No surprise there; wasn’t he the little prick that tried to arrest Damian and Nathaniel that night Jason was shot? The one that lipped off to Jean-Claude? That was a bitchy invite; no one expected him to show. Same with Malcolm, although I would have thought he’d be mannerly enough to send his regrets. It’s too early for the rest. I won’t start anything until intermission with those.” Cocking her head, she looked up a split second before another car pulled into the lot. Preternatural hearing had its advantages at times.

 

“Heads up, you have another Limo pulling up,” she cautioned Zerbrowski.

 

“Yeah, but I think I know this one,” he answered as the black limousine came to a stop. A tall, muscular looking man who looked ready to burst out of the drivers suit he was wearing quickly came around opened the passenger side client door, offering his arm to the occupant in a gentlemanly attempt to assist her out of the car.

 

“Huh, Ernie looks presentable tonight. Even has that ratty pony tail of his in a neat queue. And that’s Jean-Claude’s private limo; I wonder who the VIP is? I thought you said the A-list was all here?” she scolded him, surprised at his error.

 

“I did. It’s my Katie.” His breath caught in his throat as his wife made her way to the check in booth. She never looked more beautiful. The material of the lavender gown clung to her in all the right places, the shawl she wore around her shoulders looked like it was made of amethysts, and she walked with a child like buoyancy, her excited eyes glittering brighter than the diamonds that graced her throat and ears.

 

Claudia let out an appreciative whistle. “THAT’S who you married? Did you have to blackmail her or something?”

 

“Nah, I just wear a size thirteen shoe,” he deadpanned, grinning as he listened to his wererat coworker howl with laughter.

 

Through it all, his attention had never strayed from his wife. She was stunning, and he was enjoying every moment of her approach. Katie had finally reached the garden arbor at the end of the red carpet. It was actually a metal detector, but so far all of the guests had gone through without a major incident. She sailed through, and stopped in front of Smith, who was manning that check in point.

 

“Hello, Detective Smith! Hi, Zee! How do I look?” she beamed, not even bothering to tone down the enthusiasm in her voice as she pirouetted in front of them. “Didn’t Stephen do a great job on my makeup and hair?”

 

He had to admit, the boy had talent. Everything Stephen had done only accented and deepened her natural beauty. Her hair, he was glad to see, was loose about her face, but looked smoother, like he’d done something to her brunette tresses to make them lay like silk around her head. Her dark eyes looked deepened, even more pronounced with the deft makeup he’d applied. Katie looked natural, not like half the crones he’d seen tonight. And she was his.

 

“You look good enough to fog up my glasses, Katie girl,” he said truthfully. “ I’d escort you inside, but I’m on duty. Maybe Claudia can take you to Byron?”

 

Claudia smiled and offered her arm to Katie. “It’d be my pleasure, Lieutenant. It’ll give me a chance to point out the many and sundry ways she’s obviously too good for you, and give her a list of the eligible rich men inside.”

 

“Ha ha. Really, you should give up your day job and try your hand at the Laughing Corpse, Claudia. You have a talent there.” He laid a gentle kiss on his wife’s cheek, careful not to smudge her makeup. “Have a good time, Sweetie. You deserve it.”

 

“I’ll be back in about an hour, Lieutenant,” Claudia replied. “In the meantime, the staff will keep you and your men supplied with food and coffee, or any other non-alcoholic beverage you want. Come on, Mrs. Zerbrowski. A whole world of wonder waits for you inside!”

 

************************************************************************

 

Merde, but this is tedious, Jean-Claude thought as he was accosted once more by a vapid, brainless child celebrity who labored under the false assumption that groping him came with the price of the admission. He kept a bland smile on his face, mindful to keep it from devolving into a canine bearing snarl. Decades at Belle’s court had taught him a courtier’s laugh, and he was forced to dredge up that talent with his current companion, all the while scanning the expanse of the bar area searching for a plausible way out. Ah, there. Providence provided his salvation in the form of the dark haired woman on the arm of his head of security.

 

With a smile, Jean-Claude made his apologies to the current American singing rage and made his way over to Claudia and Katie. He bowed over Katie’s wrist, and laid a feather light kiss to the back of her hand. “Ah, Mrs. Zerbrowki! I am so very pleased you have arrived. Byron will attend you shortly,” he enthused. “I would say you are the loveliest lady here this evening, but it would be most unwise and ungentlemanly of me to not insist it was Ma Petite,” Jean-Claude said charmingly, and Katie felt her insides melt at his voice and his smile. Her good feeling fled and her demeanor faltered a bit as she caught sight of the woman Jean-Claude had abandoned to greet her. The young lady was stalking over, a murderous look in her eyes at being jilted for what obviously was a nobody.

 

Her waif-like frame shaking with suppressed jealousy, the blond woman rudely interrupted their conversation. “Jean-Claude, you naughty thing, you left me! And who is this? The winner in a radio contest or something?” she remarked snidely as she ran an uninvited arm possessively around his waist.

 

Katie stilled, half hurt by the woman’s catty comment, and half frightened by the furious look of distaste that turned the vampire’s beautiful blue eyes a harsh evil hue the color of midnight. But all of her was unaccustomed to standing still while being insulted, and she was about to answer back in true cop’s wife fashion when Jean-Claude disentangled himself from the bitch’s grasp and rounded on her.

 

“Katherine is the wife of a very good acquaintance, and a friend herself. She is my personal invited guest this evening, and will be viewing the performance from my private box. If you will excuse me, I need to introduce her to Byron, her escort for the evening,” he said dismissively, turning his back to the startled woman. “I’m sure you’ll find your general admission seats adequate. Please enjoy the performance.”

 

Grandly taking Katie’s arm, Jean-Claude swept her past the gape jawed diva, leaving her sputtering in their wake. Blue eyes flashing with irritation from the encounter, he called out imperiously for someone to take Katherine’s drink order, how dare she be waiting this long to be served? Vampire waiters and waitresses fell over each other to be at her beck and call, simpering their apologies and practically begging her to allow them to be the ones to serve her. Dazed, she just asked for whatever everyone else was drinking.

 

A single petite vampire had caught Jean-Claude’s eye. “Champagne, and be sure to add a splash of Chambord for the lady. Mrs. Zerbrowski is to be treated as royalty this night. I trust I have made myself perfectly understood?”

 

“Yes, Mas.. Sir,” a small voice answered from it’s bent over position. The diminutive woman straightened, and with a polite bob of her head hurried to do his bidding.

 

This is surreal, Katie thought, her mind reeling. She expected to be pampered somewhat, but this was just overwhelming. “Um, Jean-Claude, I’m staying in your box tonight? That’s not what my ticket says. You don’t have to do that just because she was a b..witch to me. And please call me Katie,” she pleaded. Her name, common or not, was the only thing that was going to keep her anchored to reality tonight. “Katherine is my grandmother!”

 

“You are now, Katie,” he answered magnanimously. “Arrogant harpy fancied herself my most important guest, and that she could trod over who she wished? I owe you a two-fold debt, and you have earned my respect,” he explained, patting her hand in a comforting gesture. His eyes suddenly focused on something over her shoulder. “Ah, Byron has arrived. Allow me to introduce you.”

 

Katie turned to greet her escort, and got yet another shock for the night. At first she thought it was a child she was being introduced to. Short and slender, Byron had an unfinished adolescent look to him, a look that was accented by the soft curly brown hair that framed his face and the biggest set of innocent grey eyes she’d ever seen. This was a big bad vampire? Then she caught his wicked grin and the intelligent gleam in those grey eyes of his and knew instantly that there was a wise to the world adult trapped in that teenaged body, one that knew exactly how he looked and what people’s reactions to him were.

 

“Bon, you are here. Byron, your guest for the evening is Katie Zerbrowski, the wife of my and Ma Petite’s esteemed friend, Lieutenant Zerbrowski. She is to be shown an enchanting time tonight, and you are not to leave her side for any reason,” he instructed curtly, his temper still simmering.

 

Byron grinned wickedly, unfazed by the Master of the City’s fit of pique. “Of course Jean-Claude. Am I to go into the ladies room with her as well? Oooh, that’ll be precious, won’t it?” a very British accent teased. “Grand to make your acquaintance, Katie luv. Shall we?” he asked, gallantly holding out his arm. Katie sighed in relief. This one didn’t seem quite so stiff, for a vampire, and she knew by his easy banter and friendly face they were going to get along just fine.

 

Satisfied, Jean-Claude inclined his head and made his apologies for the night. “Forgive me, but I must leave you two to your own devices and mingle with my other guests, however distasteful that may be.”

 

“You just leave things to me, Jean-Claude. We’re going to have a smashing time, aren’t we duckie? Do you want to mingle for a bit before we show off and go to the Master’s box?” he asked, his eyes scanning the crowd for someone to torment.

 

Katie laughed. “I’d love to, but I really don’t know anyone here.”

 

“Not a problem, sweeties. The stuck up princess that the Master just sent yipping? Fancies herself as the next paramour to Jean-Claude, she does. Not that she has a chance with Anita. Or Asher, for that matter, ” he said conspiratorially, and gave her an elaborate wink.

 

Her curiosity stoked, she quickly questioned, “Whose Asher?”

 

He held a finger to his lips and shushed quietly. “Stick with me, Love. Byron knows all the juicy bits. I might get flayed for telling him, but Jean-Claude can’t say I didn’t show you a prize time!”

 

Katie laughed, and took his arm. “Oh, I think this is going to be one hell of a wild ride,” she gushed. “Where is Jean-Claude’s box, anyway?”

 

Byron smirked and pointed upwards. An elaborately decorated box, large enough to perhaps seat six people, hung suspended in the middle of the room just behind the orchestra pit by thick, velvet covered chains. No discernable stairs led up to it, and it was unattached to the balconies surrounding it.

 

Baffled, she whispered, “Um, Byron? Hate to be stupid here, by how do we get up there?”

 

“We fly, my dear woman. We fly,” he laughed grandly as he swept her into the waiting throng.

 

“One hell of a ride, for damn sure!”


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Anita was annoyed, ticked off and irritated at more than just the impotence of the situation. Every bad memory from her pathetic prom days was resurfacing, and Jean-Claude was definitely not inclined to make this night easier for her. Is it so much that I ask you to mingle?, he’d scolded her, a long suffering tone in his voice. Learn to command a crowd. You need not be so stiff, so off-putting in social events. Am I not being absurdly accommodating this opening night as it is? Jean-Claude had smiled broadly at the murderous look she’d shot him with those comments. If you wish to use the opportunity to look for miscreants, please do so, if it will make the chore of actually making small talk to people more palatable. But do not stand around scowling and frightening my invited guests. Just great; in a roomful of shifters and vampires, she wins the award as ‘most likely to terrorize the invitees’.

 

She just didn’t comprehend why the hell was it necessary for her to be sociable. So she had a different skill set then most; sure, it was one that involved firearms, knives, and animating the dead, but there wasn’t an abundance of complaints from the suave master vampire about her abilities, either. The way their lives were proceeding, her more ruthless proclivities were worth a hell of a lot more than the ability to carry on a vapid, meaningless conversation. She watched him, surrounded by a bevy of tittering females, completely at ease and effortlessly enchanting them with his presence and intellect, and all she wanted to do was go up to him, run her hands across his chest and back, and cup his ass while she thoroughly and spectacularly kissed him in front of the pert little hussies. Sometimes actions did speak louder than words. Hell, being the object of conversation had to be an equal substitute with carrying on a conversation, didn’t it?

 

A peal of delighted laughter echoed to her right, and Anita turned and grinned as she watched Katie Zerbrowski having an absolutely wonderful time with Byron. Jean-Claude had matched her with the incorrigible Englishman as her ‘date’ for the evening, and it sounded and looked like the two of them were hitting it off. Good for Katie, she thought to herself. It wasn’t easy being a cop’s wife. The anxiety and stress of waiting could be almost unbearable; the woman deserved every moment of luxury Jean-Claude had planned for her. A little guiltily, she looked back at Micah and Nathaniel. Her career choices didn’t exactly make it easy on them, either. They deserved an enjoyable night as well; she just had the feeling they weren’t going to get it.

 

Mingle, the man had requested, so she dutifully scanned the crowd for a likely victim. There had to be someone here she could carry on a semblance of a civil conversation with. Everyone seemed to be excited about something over by the bar, and curious, she let her gaze linger there for a moment, only to have her heart begin to flutter as she realized what was causing the commotion. Well, it wasn’t exactly a what that was intoxicating the crowd, but a who.

 

Richard.

 

He looked imposing in the tuxedo Jean-Claude had provided for him, his veneer of civility only partially masking the untamable aura that always seemed to surround him when his lycanthrope power was simmering under the surface of his skin. Richard knew of Marianne’s reading, at least as much as she and Jean-Claude thought necessary, and was as prepared as the rest of them were. Dressed like that, with his body builder muscles, darkly handsome features and easy smile, and people were drawn to him like moths to a flame. Jamil, she noticed, was less than happy with the attention, and was having an exhausting time discreetly maintaining an acceptable distance between his Ulfric and the horde surrounding him.

 

Richard had once claimed that her relationship with Micah was like Marcus and Raina’s; instantaneous sexual attraction, but little else. Someone you fucked, but didn’t live with. Little did he realize how close he was to the truth, just with the wrong lycanthrope. That was her and Richard to a ‘T’. Sure, they had started out somewhat compatible, at least on paper. Matching degrees in Preternatural Biology. A social interest in downtrodden rights; hers with zombies, his naturally with lycanthropes. A love of cheesy movies and afternoons of comfortable snuggling. But it wasn’t enough for a long term relationship, not with the other baggage they both carried. Friends, maybe. But as each other's one and only? Not a chance. But there was no denying the attraction, the way his body made her clench down low. How she got a hitch in her breath every time he was near. She loved him for that, and for what they had shared, but live together? It would have made ‘War of the Roses’ seem like a fairy tale love story.

 

No animal was comfortable being stared at, and Richard abruptly noticed her perusal. With smiled apologies, he disengaged himself from the mob of mostly women surrounding him and made his way over to her. Jamil, as his Skoll and bodyguard for the evening, discreetly trailed a few paces behind. Heady for a distraction from Richard, Anita couldn’t help but look admiringly at the pack’s Skoll; Jamil looked GQ in his tux, his dreads tied back with a leather thong, his easy smile and casual movements masking the fact that he could be a very dangerous man when necessary.

 

But for all his beauty and brawn, Jamil was overshadowed by his Ulfric. Her mouth watered at the sight of Richard, a wholly visceral reaction to his rugged beauty and barely contained power. Richard was masculine, and she felt an indescribable longing to run her hands over his chest and abs. To see him naked, because that was when he truly looked like himself; naked, and natural, and at ease. Bad Anita, Bad! she chastised herself mentally. No jumping the tri-mate in a public place! She turned to his bodyguard as a distraction.

 

“Jamil,” she greeted him warmly, moving in closer to him as she reined in her libido. “You’re looking handsome. It’s good to see you tonight.” They’d had a bit of a history of dominance testing, her and Jamil, but had managed to survive them without killing each other to prove a point.

 

Jamil leaned into Anita, embracing her warmly and bending his face down to deliver a delicate, chaste kiss to her lips. His cologne smelled nice, and had the dual effect of helping to mask Richard’s scent. Anita smiled inwardly at the memory of the first time he had been forced to show her the submissive greeting to a stronger wolf in Tennessee. He’d been angry then, bitter that he’d been forced to acknowledge her higher standing. But that was long in the past. She’d earned his respect, and the pack's, and he gave her the public greeting willingly.

 

“Good to see you, too, Lupa,” he said, then leaned in closer. “We miss you at the Lupanar. You haven’t been to a gathering in a long time.”

 

She scented his neck, a comforting gesture. “I come when I can. When I’m welcome. It’s complicated, and you know that.” She disengaged herself, and cast a quick glance over at the complication.

 

Richard stood waiting expectantly, as relaxed as she’d ever seen him. Composed and confident, and apparently damn smug over her obvious reaction to him. Stupid lycanthrope sense of smell. But hell, there was no denying that he could do things to her that very few others could. You could count them on one hand; alright, to be honest four fingers. Jean-Claude, Asher, Micah and Nathaniel. Standing on tiptoe so she could comfortably rest her hands on his shoulders, she reached up to offer her cheek. He obligingly leaned down, and they companionably nuzzled each other behind the ear. Pack greeting fulfilled, he kissed her possessively and thoroughly, before letting her go with a self-satisfied smirk as she swayed and gasped for air.

 

Yeah, he could still do it to her.

 

She caught Micah peering in her direction, a confused look on his handsome face, and smiled encouragingly at him. He made his way over as well, Nathaniel and Noah in tow. Noah, his third, was attending as his personal bodyguard, much as Jamil was for Richard. Normally, Merle would have insisted on the duty, but he was helping to fill in as a bouncer at Guilty Pleasures instead. His choice. The older wereleopard had bluntly said guarding the virtue of a bunch of male strippers was a hell of a lot less painful than wearing a monkey suit and rubbing elbows with the rich and boring. Course, but she had to admit, he had a point. Had a choice been available to her, she would have been right next to him at the strip club keeping the groupies at bay.

 

Richard held his ground a moment, before offering a civil “Micah”, and nod of his head in greeting before obligingly backing away from her. Micah, unruffled as always, offered a “Richard” in return, and confidently stood in close to his Nimir-Ra. Uncertain of the atmosphere, Noah and Jamil moved closer together, non-confrontational but each wanting to let the other know that nothing untoward would be tolerated. She sighed softly. Boys and testosterone would prove to be the bane of her existence.

 

Richard, for whatever reason, elected to be diplomatic and saved her the trouble of intervening. “Are we all going to fit in Jean-Claude’s box?” he asked judiciously, eyeing the aerial seating area dubiously. It was bad enough that he was going to have to rely on a vampire flying him up there, but it was evident the bodyguards weren’t going to be able to enjoy the eagles eye view, so to speak.

 

Anita shook her head. “None of us will be up there, except perhaps Nathaniel. Jean-Claude would like us with him, watching the crowd. He’ll be at the back of the theatre, playing the audience by adding his powers to the troupe’s to amplify the effect. Pretty ingenious trick, if you think about it, but not one he’s going to want to do every damn night. He’s just very focused on making this one a rousing success.”

 

Richard nodded his understanding. “All right then, Jamil and I will be on our toes. That works for me. See you later,” he said simply, and ambled off with a knowing smile at Anita, not saying another word, as if to prove that he was in control of himself, and everything else occurring around him.

 

Anita lowered her head and arched her shoulders to help relieve the pent up situational and sexual tension. Well, she thought consolingly, at least the catastrophe this night wasn’t going to be caused by a Richard meltdown. One of the multitude of servers ambled by, and Micah nimbly passed Anita a crystal champagne flute, then fluidly snagged a glass for himself and Nathaniel as well. “Things appear to be getting off to a smooth start at least,” he said quietly as he sipped delicately from the crystal.

 

Anita peered at him through the amber liquid. “So far, so good. Marianne didn’t really specify what the ‘deceit and disaster’ was going to be,” she replied, sniffing the sparkling wine dubiously. “Maybe it just means the club runs out of champagne or something and Jean-Claude has a tizzy,” she teased lightly.

 

Micah coughed out a chuckle. “We should be so lucky,” he laughed as he sipped his drink. He let our a happy moan of appreciation. “Damn, but this is good. I wonder what it is?”

 

“I don’t know, but it reminds me of your eyes,” Anita answered, taking a miniscule sip herself. She could hear Nathaniel snorting beside her, but held her tongue. Her hatred of alcohol was legendary, but even she murmured appreciably at the complex taste. Micah looked a little closer at his glass. The champagne was a beautiful golden color, with subtle hues of green. Like his chartreuse eyes.

 

He ran an arm around her waist, pulling her in close and burying his face into her neck. “You think Jean-Claude picked it out with me in mind?” he joked, his breath hot against her neck.

 

Jean-Claude’s silky voice interrupted Micah’s attempt to distract Anita. “Non, he picked it out because it is Veuve Clicquot Vintage Réserve. Beyond being a quality champagne, Madame Clicquot was a formidable businesswoman of her time, and someone I greatly admired.”

 

Micah gave a flirty grin to the raven haired vampire. “Damn, and here I thought it was for my benefit,” He gave a puzzled look through the crowd. “No Asher this evening, Jean-Claude? As your second I would have thought he’d be here.”

 

“Non, mon chat beau. He is of greater use overseeing my other establishments. And he still harbors a reluctance to be in crowds,” Jean-Claude answered sadly. Asher would have been a welcome presence this night, but he knew it was not to be.

 

The atmosphere was too thick for everyone’s liking, and Nathaniel provided the appropriate diversion as his tongue flicked out into his glass, and his nose wrinkled at the unaccustomed bubbles. “I thought Bollinger and Dom Perignon were the ‘in’ people’s choice,” he questioned curiously. He liked to watch cable channels as he puttered around the kitchen. They were very informational. “And you have a lot of celebrities here.”

 

“Reputation and price are not the only defining factors for quality, mon chat. Jewels are found when and where you least expect them,” the vampire chided. “You most of all should be aware of that,” he finished with a pat on the auburn haired wereleopard’s arm. One of the servers was frantically trying to get the Master Vampire’s attention. “Merde, I’m off again to handle yet another non-existent crisis,” he snarled, before impatiently making his way over to the hapless waiter.

 

Anita laughed, and tipped her flute in Nathaniel’s direction. “In case you didn’t pick up on it, you were just paid a compliment. I knew he was fond of you, but I never thought he’d put you in the jewel category.”

 

Nathaniel’s lavender eyes sparkled, but his reply was interrupted when a stranger’s voice spoke up behind them. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but are you Micah Callahan, the one who runs the Lycanthrope Coalition?”

 

Micah turned. A rugged, middle-aged man waited expectantly for acknowledgement.

 

“I’m Micah Callahan,” he answered and held out his hand. “And you are?”

 

“James Sussman. I’m the director of the St. Louis Zoo, and I have a proposition for you.”

 

A little suspicious, Micah quickly shook the man’s hand and said tersely, “The zoo? The Furry Coalition is for helping fellow shifters, and the betterment of relations with the rest of humanity. Just how can I be of any service to you, Mr. Sussman?”

 

“I can explain. It’s my understanding that you’re a leopard? And that you know other leopards?” He held out a placating hand. “Please don’t misunderstand. I’m not looking to out anybody, or to try to do any odd experiments. My zoo is involved in a captive breeding program of endangered wildlife cats. There’s a higher success ratio when the cubs are hand raised for the first few months by people, but there is an element of danger to the ‘foster parents’, and an inevitable bit of domestication on the part of the animals. I thought, if you or someone you know would be willing to give it a try, the fact that you are big cat lycanthropes would enable you to better bond with the cubs, handle their more wild natures, and help them retain their natural instincts,” he explained in a rush. “Would you consider coming down and viewing what it would entail, and at least thinking about it?”

 

Micah shrugged, slightly intrigued but not willing to commit to anything at the moment. He already knew Nathaniel’s opinion of the offer; he’d suspected the boy would be enamored of the idea, and he wasn’t disappointed. Nate’s lavender eyes were shining, and hopeful, as he looked beseechingly at his Nimir-Raj. Anita, however, seemed to be less than enthused with the proposition. Never one to be able to hide her facial expressions, her darkened brow and scowl gave her sentiments away. He blew out a frustrated breath as he listened to her groan in frustration as Nathaniel swept a pleading look her way. He wished the man had approached him privately. It would have made his life decidedly simpler.

 

As he suspected, Nate wasn’t about to let this one go without trying. “Anita? Can we look into it, please? We’d all help, and it would be for a good cause.”

 

“It’s a big undertaking and responsibility, Nathaniel,” Micah cautioned, jumping in so Anita wouldn’t have to be the bad guy. “We all have jobs and other duties. I’m not saying we can’t go listen to the man, but all of us have to agree to help if this is going to be feasible.”

 

Nathaniel looked undeterred, and Micah silently uttered a small prayer of thanks as the lights dimmed, once, twice, three times, signifying the imminent start to the show and beckoning the patrons to take their seats. Jean-Claude flounced over to where they were grouped.

 

“Ah, Evariste is punctual, as I requested. Only fifteen minutes to the beginning of the play. If you will join me?” Jean-Claude requested as he retreated to the back of the theatre, where a discreet bank of chairs were hidden behind a black cloaked railing. Anita and her pardmates followed, and she could see Richard and Jamil slowly making their way over as well. Envious noises, and amazed “oh’s” and “ah’s”, drew her attention to the center of the theatre in time to see Damian, Byron and Katie floating upwards to the Master’s box. Damian had the petite woman cradled in his arms, and Katie looked completely dazed, but with a shadow of smugness. Anita smirked at the sight. Zerbrowski’s wife was definitely going to get mileage from this outing with the PTA ladies.

 

***********************************************************************

 

“Who wants coffee?” Jason yelled amiably, a fresh pot in his right hand, and an overflowing tray of leftover hors d’eourves in his left. He’d cleaned out the kitchen when the lights starting flickering, hoping to get some snacks out to the poor bastards outside before the show started and he missed any of the action.

 

Zerbrowski grinned at the hoots and hollers that accompanied that welcome news. Jason looked different all dressed up in a tuxedo, more like an adult and less like a devil may care teenager. He thought about it a second. Maybe not different, per se, just a little less like his twenty something smart ass self.

 

“What, you slumming with the hired help now, Jason?” he snorted, unable to resist the temptation to tease. There was a reason he got along with the boy; he could have been his personality twin at that age. “Isn’t there a saying, something like ‘beware of werewolves bearing gifts’?”

 

Brow furrowed in mock outrage, Jason shot back, “It’s Greeks, you cultural Ostrogoth, and I can just as easily take these trays back inside and toss them…” he threatened, to a cacophony of groans from the rest of the boys in blue. It was going to be a long cool night, and caffeine was going to be a dietary necessity.

 

Zerbrowski relented. “Oh, just shut up and set them down on the table. I could use another cup of Joe. But aren’t you going to miss the opening act of the show?”

 

Jason shook his head. “It’s fifteen until curtain time, so I decided to make a last call to my favorite RPIT guys while I had the time. And what do I get for my selfless efforts,” he moaned, his voice dripping with fake anguish. “Abuse! Complete, undeserved abuse!”

 

Merlioni and the rest where laughing at the interplay between their boss and the blonde werewolf. In truth, it had been an uneventful and somewhat boring night, Thank God, but the food and sniping were a welcome diversion.

 

Holding his travel mug to signal his need for a refill, Smith cupped his hands to his ears, trying to mute the noise as he listened to his scanner. A worried scowl began to darken his features. There was a suspicious warehouse fire in the Tenderloin; a fucking large one from what he was hearing. It had rapidly gone from one to four alarm status, and by all accounts was raging out of control and would go even higher. Normally, that wouldn’t be of major concern, but too many firefighter and police assets were being diverted to the area. Other sections would be perilously at risk if another major fire broke out. The Lieutenant had asked him to keep an ear out for potential trouble, and this sure qualified in his book.

 

“Lieutenant, you got a second?” he yelled out, pulling one of the ear plugs and motioning his superior over.

 

Zerbrowski looked up from pouring himself a coffee, annoyed until he saw the serious look on the Detective’s face. Damn, I knew things were going too easily, he mused as he set the ceramic cup down and made his way over.

 

Jason trailed him, intent on finding out what was going on. “What’s up, Smith?” Zerbrowski asked, all business and expecting a professional report from the man for his time.

 

“I don’t like this, Sir. There’s a major fire in the works, and it’s looking to be a monster one. It’s gone to a four…hold on,” he paused, cocking his head and listening intently to his remaining plug, “make that six alarm fire, and there are now unsubstantiated 9-1-1 calls from anonymous sources that homeless people are trapped inside. That’ll push it up to an eight or nine alarmer easy, and leaves a lot of areas short on relief if anything else should crop up. Including us.”

 

Zerbrowski tapped his fingers speculatively on his coffee mug, then quickly made up his mind. The kid was right. He didn’t like this either. Everyone was looking at him expectantly, waiting for his decision.

 

He swiftly made up his mind. “Jason,” he said curtly, authoritatively. “Go in and let Jean-Claude know. Could be nothing, could be a problem. It’s too soon to tell, but he has to be informed. Smith, key Claudia and tell her to meet Jason, and ask her to let me know the big man’s wishes. And I want to know immediately if it escalates further, or any other fires crop up.” Smith nodded enthusiastically, and replaced the ear plug he had removed, all intent on his task and orders.

 

Jason whirled and started back to the theater, then paused and looked worriedly at Zerbrowski. “Do you want me to send out any of the were security?” he asked, a seriously concerned look on his face.

 

Zerbrowski waved him off. “No, just go inform Jean-Claude. I know no one got inside who isn’t supposed to be there, and there is no way anyone took any firearms in with them. What if that’s what they want? Lycanthropes and vampires outside for a sniper to pick off, or worse? Better we just stay with the plan. This could turn out to be nothing.”

 

Jason nodded, then turned and jogged back into Theatre de Sang. He didn’t really agree, but he was just an underling in this. It only took a few seconds to corral Claudia and locate his master, and he hurriedly brought them up to speed on the situation.

 

Jason spoke casually, smiling, for all the world simply making small talk with his employer so as not to cause undo concern. Claudia lounged against the far wall, her alert eyes scanning anywhere but at the most powerful preternaturals in the city of St Louis. It would be counterproductive to draw attention to themselves, or to cause rumors.

 

Jason finished his summation. “That’s about it, Jean-Claude. He’s concerned, and wanted you brought up to date, but he seemed to think that staying the course was the best alternative.”

 

Trusting lycanthrope hearing, Jean-Claude murmured questioningly, “Do you concur, Claudia?”

 

After a slight pause, she gave several short nods of her head in agreement.

 

“And the RPIT Lieutenant is still of the same mind?” Jean-Claude continued. He wanted all of his security professionals in agreement on this.

 

Claudia whispered into her headset, and waited for an answer. Another head bob, and the decision was made.

 

“Then the show goes on”, he decided, a bit resignedly, knowing that this small development could only portend that they were moving inexorably closer to whatever the sorcière had foreseen.

 

Damian and Richard both began to protest. “This is insanity, Master!” Damian argued vehemently, his voice low and insistent. “All of these precautions, on the advice of a seer, and we just wait like sheep for the slaughter for whatever comes our way?”

 

Richard concurred. “He’s right, Jean-Claude. It makes absolutely no sense to insist on going forward with this.”

 

“Silence, both of you! And what would you have me do? Evacuate the theater because of a fire miles away? They would think me mad, and that I was trying to cheat them of their evening’s entertainment. I will hear no more of this; we will proceed with Evariste’s show. Claudia, please inform Mr. Zerbrowski. Damian, take Jason to Katherine and Byron.”

 

Jason was outraged at being shunted aside. “What good will I be up there? If anything happens…”

 

“If anything happens I want you to protect the officer’s wife. I owe him that much”, Jean-Claude snarled, aggravated, on edge and in no mood to brook any disrespect from his young Pomme de Sang. “Now go.”

 

Deflated, Jason allowed himself to be embraced by the red haired vampire and propelled upwards to the opulent box.

 

Anita had remained uncharacteristically quiet throughout the discussion. It was a classic case of not being able to win for losing. She knew Jean-Claude’s reasons, better than anyone. Supporting him would only have upset Richard, and she couldn’t argue against him. So standing silently was the only thing she could do. Watching Damian wrap his arms around Jason’s waist and effortlessly pull him into the air, and suspecting an ulterior motive, she leaned in to whisper in Jean-Claude’s ear.

 

“You want him out of harms way, don't you?” she questioned.

 

“Oui. If it is out of my control to protect everyone, then I will do the best I can to protect those dear to me. I will see the boy safe, and you as well, and for both of our sakes our Triumvirates, and Micah.”

 

She ran a comforting arm around his waist. “Even for you, Jean-Claude, that may not be possible.”

 

************************************************************************

 

Byron and Katie looked up, startled to see Jason joining them in their private aerial box.

 

“Jason, to what to we owe this honor?” Byron asked, a little suspiciously, his grey eyes intent on Jason’s blue ones, silently asking if there was a problem.

 

Jason shrugged imperceptibly. “Apparently Jean-Claude wanted me kept under wraps, and up here, what the hell kind of mischief can I get into?” he lied smoothly. He eyed the small area suspiciously. “Not to be a naysayer, but this box has really poor planning associated with it.”

 

“Why? It is opulent, and comfortable, and has the best view and sound of anywhere in the theatre,” Damian argued.

 

Jason was smug. Typical comfort loving vampire response. “And you miss the obvious. But you can be forgiven, since being a vampire and all it’s not a pressing concern for you. But what if, and I’m attempting to put this as delicately as possible, Katie or I feel the call of nature?”

 

Damian’s confusion was evident. “Call of nature?”

 

“You know, have to visit the little boy’s room? Let the lizard loose?” Jason sighed at the twin looks of incomprehension he was getting from Byron and Damian, even if Katie was giggling to beat the band. There had to be some euphemism they knew.

 

“Take a whizz? Go to the loo? Isn’t that the British term?” he said, an exasperated tone to his voice. He didn’t really care, but the joking helped smooth over his unexpected arrival.

 

Byron’s eyes widened as he finally understood what the boy was trying to say. “Well, being a lady I’m sure Katie can wait until intermission. And if not, I’ll just fly her down. To hell with the rest of them if they don’t like it.”

 

Jason acted outraged. “And what about me? You gonna fly me down too?”

 

Their laughter was interrupted as the orchestra began the opening chords of the introductory number. “Cross your legs,” Damian advised as he glided back down to his post.

 

************************************************************************

 

Katie sat at the edge of her seat, captivated by the spectacle the troupe was weaving before her, not caring that it was being amped up by a little vampire mind trick. The pageantry of the costumes was perfectly balanced with the talent of the dancers, and the orchestra was building to a crescendo of retribution as God, bullwhip flailing, made his entrance onto the stage to drive his errant children from Eden. She could feel in her breast the terror of the Vampire Adam and Eve as they cowered on the stage, beseeching their creator for mercy and forgiveness.

 

Byron was more enchanted with the childlike look of amazement on his human companion’s face than the theatrics below. Even Jason, with all his experience with vampires, was totally engrossed in the action, his eyes shimmering with excitement. Byron ignored the stage. The agility of vampires was not a revelation to him; it was more entertaining after centuries of a somewhat jaded existence to watch the unbridled expression of awe and pleasure on Katie’s face. It was why vampires clung to humanity. They weren’t just food for the body. They were food for their supposedly non-existent souls.

 

Completely enthralled, Katie laid a hand on Byron’s knee, and asked excitedly, “Who is that portraying God? He’s magnificent! And so atypical of the stereotypical deity!”

 

Bryon understood what she meant. Primo was huge; muscled and masculine, with a military haircut and none of the facial hair commonly associated with the Christian ideal of God. “His name is Primo. He’s the oldest vampire in Jean-Claude’s kiss, even older than Damian. He was once a Roman Gladiator, and was sent here to try to cause mischief by his Mistress.”

 

Katie’s eyes widened in childlike glee. “NO! An honest to God Roman Gladiator? The history he’s seen! Your people are just a treasure trove of knowledge, and no one bothers to use it. So what did he try to do?”

 

“Watch it, Byron,” Jason cautioned as he caught the gist of the conversation. “Primo’s a son of a bitch, pardon my language Katie, and I doubt Jean-Claude will be thrilled with you airing dirty laundry to the uninitiated.”

 

Byron rolled his eyes. Something was not right in the universe when the legendary smart mouthed Jason was priggishly advising caution. “Oh, poo, wolf. Don’t be a stuffed shirt,” he admonished, then tapped the wonderful human woman’s nose. “Stick with me Love, I’m a fount of useful information. Now shush, you’re missing the best part!”

 

Katie and Jason quickly looked back to the stage. Vampires as angels were wailing and moaning their sorrow at the fall God’s Children, rending their clothes and flying chaotically in the air above the stage. Primo was full into the part, pronouncing his judgment of eternal darkness and a terror of the symbols of Him and His offspring for their thirst and tasting of each other’s blood.

 

Evariste was prone on the ground, singing his abject apologies and begging for atonement, his back bleeding from the blows of Primo’s bullwhip. The audience was slack jawed, their faces tear streaked with the heart wrenching pain of being cast out of paradise. Primo bellowed his commandment once again, his muscular arm swinging the bullwhip for a mighty crack that was accompanied by the explosive pyrotechnics surrounding the stage.

 

And in a concussion of fire and debris, all hell broke loose.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

The sound was deafening in the enclosed theatre, the force of the blast slamming even the physically tougher lyanthrope and vampire staff to the ground. There was an eerie moment of complete stillness as the dust and debris settled, like a momentary suspension of time, before the screams began and the wererats surged forward to take charge.

 

Anita found herself face down on the ground, Jean-Claude’s lithe body draped protectively over her. Shaking her head to clear the foggy ringing in her ears, she swore silently to herself. Damn it all, Marianne, why did you have to be right? she thought, as she shoved against one enraged Master Vampire.

 

She may have been pushing against a brick wall. “Get OFF OF ME!” she snarled, smacking his chest for emphasis. “I can’t help lying here with you on top of me like an undead bullet proof vest. Let me up so I can see!”

 

Jean-Claude’s face was an alabaster apparition of otherworldly energy and cold anger as he floated off of her to allow her an unobstructed view of carnage around them. “Then see. See what the cards had warned of,” he snarled, making no attempt to disguise his fangs or hide his solid blue eyes. He leaned in closer, his silky voice deceptively soft in her ear. “Was it too much to ask of the sorcière that she be a little more forthcoming about the nature of the disaster she so insistently warned us of? Since, of course, we were expected to hurdle towards this fate like lambs to the slaughter?”

 

Unshed tears burned her eyes, but she couldn’t argue with his ire. It had been too much to ask, and yet he had done it for her. Because she told him it was necessary. Love knows no bounds wasn’t an idle saying. She took a deep breath to center herself before rising. Based on the noise and the reactions around her, it wasn’t going to be a pretty sight. Like she had any other choice herself, though, her mind pointed out. She closed her eyes sent out a silent plea before resolutely pushing to her feet as she reached for her Firestar pacifier. Please, fates, let the good that was going to come of this be worth the pain.

 

With a final outtake of breath, she opened her eyes and surveyed her surroundings. The consoling sight of pack and pard were the first things to greet her tear filled gaze. Richard, Micah and Nathaniel were closest to her, and had formed a solid phalanx of muscle around their seating area to augment Jean-Claude’s body blanket. The bodyguards, Noah and Jamil, were spitting angry and not in the mood to screw around. They’d shifted straight to half form, and had taken up an outer perimeter defense of claws and fangs. Jamil’s black fur was ruffled, his lips curled back in a frothy snarl. Noah was hissing, his stiletto claws completely unsheathed, his golden coat standing on end with the tension thrumming through his body.

 

Jamil’s yellow eyes started back and her sudden movement. “Lupa, please, stay down. You don’t heal like we can, and I don’t know if there are any shooters in the area.”

 

She couldn’t answer him; her breath caught in her throat at the magnitude of the damage she was seeing. The bomb, or whatever it had been, had gone off all around the stage. The last thing her mind had registered before hitting the ground had been bodies falling and huge pieces of the ceiling plummeting downward. Logic told her that she knew those bodies; knew who it had to have been tumbling like broken rag dolls. She knew, but she still had to make sure as she turned towards the empty space where the vampire’s box had once been suspended.

 

She felt nauseous, as the pain of the truth slammed into her gut. The utter destruction and devastation of what she was seeing seized her, and she doubled over, crestfallen, as she saw the upended, shattered remains of Jean-Claude’s box.

 

She’d known it, deep down. Known that it had been Jason and Katie she’d seen. Byron, too; he had to have been the scream she heard echoing in her head through Jean-Claude’s marks. Dear merciful God, why did they have to be the ones to suffer the sorrow of this event?

 

But reality was cruel, and she had little time to grieve, take vengeance, or even mount a rescue. Claudia suddenly appeared before them, a bleeding, enraged tower of strength and purpose. She was shouting a word over and over again into her headset, and she had her sidearm primed and in a two hand stance, meticulously covering all the open areas as she guarded the most powerful preternaturals in all of St Louis.

 

And she was in no mood for bullshit or discussion. “All of you, follow me. Now,” she commanded, her voice gravelly with the suppressed desire to change. Anita hesitated, looking back at the stage, and she wasn’t alone in her gesture of humanity.

 

“Jason,” Nathaniel whispered as he made an abortive attempt towards the wreckage. A hard hand entwined itself into his hair, yanking the small wereleopard to a stop and propelling him towards the exit. Claudia’s voice wrenched them all back to reality.

 

“Fucking MOVE!” Claudia screamed, frustration evident in her tone.

 

Bowing to the inevitable, they did the only thing they could in the situation.

 

They moved.

 

**************************************************************************

 

“Oh, fuck me,” Zebrowski breathed as the thunderous explosion from inside the theatre had him instinctively crouching down, his weapon drawn and eyes tracking for potential enemies. All he could see was the thick, black smoke billowing from the top of the building, and his ears were ringing from the sound of the blast.

 

What the HELL had just happened?

 

He didn’t have long to wait for an answer. “FIRESTORM! FIRESTORM! FIRESTORM!” echoed in his ears as Claudia’s furious voice shouted their preplanned codeword for a catastrophic bomb event over the radio unit. Training kicked in, and all the time spent on preparation began to yield dividends. He could hear Smith quickly calling in the explosion, requesting fire and paramedic aid. Almost simultaneously guests and employees came streaming out of the smoky building, coughing and bleeding, but orderly and controlled. Each group had a security person attached to it, and they kept the civilians when feasible bent over, presenting as small a target as possible for any outside threats. As soon as they were herded as far away from the building as safety would allow, the scanners were quickly put to use. Some of them were bleeding, and everyone looked dazed and smudged, in shock and frightened at what had just occurred, but they were being handled. By the book and professional. Exactly what the situation called for.

 

He couldn’t say the same of himself. His heart pounding, he searched the crowd for one particular guest. He hadn’t spotted Katie yet, and his rising panic was paying little heed to his brain explaining that she could have been evacuated on the other side of the building. Steeling himself, Zerbrowski watched Smith’s laptop as units checked in and names were swiftly deleted as accounted for.

 

“Bravo section in and scanned,” an unknown voice rasped in his ear.

 

“Delta in; all scanned, but I have injured guests,” a second chimed in.

 

He knew the third voice; it was Lisandro, one of Claudia’s men that she had handpicked herself for the detail. “Sierra accounted for. I have injured as well, but only minor. We can wait.”

 

On an on it went, as the individual security officers logged in their NATO designations and gave status reports. The guest list became shorter and shorter, but one name in particular kept hanging there. One stubbornly refused to disappear from the screen and allow the knot in his heart to loosen.

 

Come on, Katie. Be safe. Disappear off of there. Don’t make me beg and pray. Please, please be safe.

 

He heard his name being roared over the din of the fire and the cries and sobs of the shocked beautiful people. He looked up in time to see Claudia escorting out Jean-Claude, Anita, and crew. All of them looked to be uninjured, but with a tight murderous glint to their eyes. He knew he’d have to give them a status report, that they would expect answers, and turned to Smith.

 

In a clipped voice that belied his rising panic at the whereabouts of Katie, he questioned, “What’s the arrival time for the fire and rescue trucks?”

 

Smith wearily removed his ear jacks. “You aren’t going to like it, Lieutenant,” he answered. “Only two ambulance units inbound, ETA twenty minutes. Any fire support won’t be for at least another hour. That’s the closest company that still available, and it’s only two engines, no heavy equipment to move debris and search for survivors. The rest are engaged at the Tenderloin fire.”

 

Zerbrowski swore, long colorful phrases that did absolutely nothing to help the situation and everything to blow off steam and frustration. “God damn neat, isn’t it? We have every VIP in the city almost blown to bits and everyone is at an empty warehouse in the worst part of the city.” He turned his bloodshot eyes on his subordinate. “You get the fuck back on the line and tell whoever you can get a hold of that we have the mayor here, as well as a bunch of Hollywood bigwigs, and if they ever want to see their favorite actress or actor again they’d better fucking send us some help. Now.”

 

Smith nodded, and bent back to the task, his voice an animated snarl as he browbeat the hapless dispatcher who had the misfortune to answer his call. He had his orders, and No was not an option; not an acceptable answer. Zerbrowski could hear the weary resolve in the boy’s voice; they needed help, now, and if the current drone he was talking to wasn’t high up enough to divert assets to them, then by God put someone on who could.

 

Claudia and company were nearly on top of him. Holstering his sidearm, he turned back to face the music.

 

**************************************************************************

 

Fighting every instinct she had, Anita hung back, Micah a comforting presence at her side. She didn’t know how Marianne could stand it, that damned ability of hers. The peering through a veil for glimpses and omens, never knowing specifics, only seeing prophesies and bits of futures that would be and you couldn’t control. Well, Marianne was right about this one, and if she was going to let it play out as predicted it was time for her to do her part and step aside.

 

This wasn’t her show. Let the others handle it, and out of sacrifice will come renewal.

 

But it didn’t mean she had to be happy about it. She crossed her arms under her breasts, more as a confining gesture to keep herself under control than a comforting one, and watched Jean-Claude and Richard as they stormed towards Zerbrowski, their powers swirling about them on the night air and pulling at her own necromancy to join them and destroy whatever had the temerity to cause their people harm. She had clamped down hard on the marks, but even through her shields she could feel Jean-Claude’s fury, white hot with outrage and frustration. The heat from Richard’s angry was different. More indignant, appalled at the disregard for the people inside, for the pain and suffering the terrorist act had engendered than for the insult it represented.

 

For all her tri-mates determination, though, they were both strides behind Claudia.

 

“Status report,” Claudia clipped out as she wadded up a towel and held it to her bleeding forehead.

 

Zerbrowski focused on his colleague. Easier to do that then try to look an incensed Master Vampire in the eye. “It looks like everyone who could get out, is out. Your man Fredo and my Detective Merlioni have set up a triage in our outside tent and are doing the best they can to catalog and treat the wounded.” He took the towel from the taller woman and began to dab on her bleeding forehead himself. “Now for the not so good news. Not that the prior shit was really that good. It’s going to be a bitch treating people since only two ambulances are responding at this time. All other rescue and fire equipment is still about an hour out, and it’s not going to be enough to do more than piss on the fire and make sure it doesn’t spread. Smith has been hounding anyone he can get a hold of, and it isn’t making a bit of difference. Everyone’s at that damn Tenderloin fire.”

 

Claudia gave a feral grin. “Then it’s time to go to plan B and call in the reserves.” With an angry toss of her head, she threw off his ministration and shouted to the long haired security man under the tent. “Lisandro! Rally the rodere, and Dr. Lillian; we’ll need her medical expertise. Tell them to fly, Amigo.”

 

He didn’t know who the Rodere were, exactly, but he had a pretty good idea. And he couldn’t care less; as long as the Calvary was riding in, they could be furred, buck ass naked, or wearing a tutu, and he’d still welcome them with open arms. As long as they could help him. Help his Katie.

 

“How did we miss it, Claudia? How the fuck did we miss that much explosive?”

 

Black eyes bored into his own. Claudia was teetering on a knife’s edge of control. Her voice deadly low, she opined, “They were in with the special effects explosives. None of us smelled anything out of the ordinary, because the gunpowder odor was supposed to be there, and masked everything else. And Evariste vouchsafed the company because he’d used them for years. But there still had to be someone on the inside. There’s no other way to explain the chains holding up Jean-Claude’s box failing like that otherwise.”

 

Damian quickly stepped up. He may not be a dominant, or a Master Vampire, but the club was his responsibility, and it was one he took to heart. His voice steady, he questioned, “Who’s still unaccounted for?”

 

Zerbrowski refreshed the screen, and took a deep calming breath. “All of the performers, and orchestra players. Byron, Jason, and Katie.” He looked pointedly at the red haired vampire. “A very selective explosion, if you ask me. Just powerful enough to take out the players, the Master of the City, the Executioner, and their VIP guests had you all been present in Jean-Claude’s box as expected.”

 

“Too convenient by far,” Jean-Claude snarled, his hair billowing about him as he allowed his power to rise to the surface in a rare public display. “We were all meant to die, Anita, Richard and myself. I will find out who did this, and I will take retribution in my own way.” Anita laid a firm warning hand on his arm. Standing aside was one thing; allowing her lover’s ire to amount to suicide by mouth was quite another.

 

Jean-Claude shook her off. “Non, Ma Petite. This reeks of a personal attempt on all of us. A challenge to my authority such as this cannot be allowed to go unpunished.” Solid blue eyes sparked a challenge at the assembled police, and all the power he could muster oozed into his voice. “Never fear, Anita. They will not remember this conversation, when all is said and done, will you gentlemen?” Blank nods accompanied the mesmerizing voice.

 

Anita glared forlornly back at the hazy ruin of the once magnificent structure. “It’s going to be difficult to get to any survivors without equipment, Jean-Claude. And we don’t even know if anyone left inside is still alive.”

 

Jean-Claude’s eyes softened and took on a faraway cast. “Can you not feel them, Ma Petite? Still yourself, open the marks, and listen to their pleas. They are mine, mine to protect, and they call to me for help. We will not leave them to burn.” His midnight blue eyes glazed for a moment before a grim smile creased his face. “Asher comes, and he brings the strongest of my kiss with him.”

 

Twin cell phones clicked shut. Micah calmly stepped up. “I’ve called Cherry, and she’s on her way with Zane. Merle already knows from Asher what’s going on, and is coming as well. The pard will help, Anita. As much as they can.”

 

Richard shrugged his jacket off. “I’ve done the same with the pack. Shang Da is gathering as many of the wolves as he can and heading this way. Patrick owns a construction company; he’ll be able to advise us on how to proceed. He’s promised equipment as well, but his company is across town. I don’t know that it’ll get here in time, but we’ll do what we can.”

 

It was the hardest thing she had ever done in her life, standing back and allowing events to flow around her, but Anita did it. She laid a questioning hand on Jean-Claude’s cheek.

 

“Is Jason still alive?”

 

“Oui. My fils de sang lives, as does Byron. Barely. But he is very much afraid at the moment.”


	19. Chapter Nineteen

This is bullshit, Zerbrowski seethed. Internally, his stomach was clenched with suppressed anxiety and annoyance; all he wanted to do was slam the man into the ground and get on with what was truly important – rescuing Katie and the others. Externally, he maintained a bland, politically correct expression, his face the epitome of attentiveness and respect. Placating the Mayor wasn't formally in his job description, but here he was, smoothing the man's ruffled feathers with all due speed so he could get back to his real job.

 

Truth was, he couldn't blame the man. As the highest ranking human official there and, for appearances, the Mayor had to make a show of getting involved, a show that he was delicately balancing with plausible deniability. Just enough interference to be able to take credit if things worked out, but remain blameless if the shit hit the fan.

 

He took a deep breath, and carefully kept the aggravation out of his voice. "Yes, Sir. I am well aware that we need fire equipment. I assure you, Sir, everyone is aware that we need fire equipment, but the Tenderloin blaze has left other areas, including ours, short on manpower and engines." He backed slowly away, trying to respectfully disentangle himself from the man's posturing and get back to his catastrophe. "Perhaps, to put this in a more positive light, it could be viewed as an opportune time to look at the new budget for extra funds in that area."

 

That little barb hit home, by the sour look on the man's face. Zerbrowski turned and started jogging back to Claudia and the others, shouting one last reassurance over his shoulder. "Help is inbound, Sir, and will be here as soon as possible. You have my word on that."

 

Zerbrowski smiled inwardly as he approached the assembled preternaturals. The Mayor was going to be in for a surprise. It wasn't a lie; help was inbound. He simply neglected to explain how unconventional that help was going to be.

 

**********************************************************************

 

The vampires arrived first. Eschewing normal modes of transportation, Asher flew in with reinforcements from Jean-Claude's kiss. The whimpering crowd hushed at the sight of a dozen angry vampires silently descending like deadly predators to the asphalt from the sky. They paid scant attention to the weeping throng. The mortals were inconsequential; their only allegiance at the moment was to the Master of the City and his human servant. Terse hand motions from Asher had his people carefully forming a barrier around their Sourdre de Sang and his Triumvirate.

 

Anita recognized Meng Die and Faust, as well as several of the London Vamps. She chided herself for that; they'd been here long enough for her to at least learn their names, they belonged to Jean-Claude now. She couldn't keep referring to them as "the others from England." Two diminutive figures caught her eye, and she was startled to see Bartholome and Valentina there as well. When Jean-Claude had said his temoin was bringing the strongest of his people, she hadn't expected those two to be among them. She was well aware that size didn't equate with power in the preternatural world, and that the two child vampires were high ranked in the pecking order of the kiss. But they were still considered `guests', and generally remained aloof from the affairs of the St. Louis vamps. Either they'd been curious, or Asher had refused to take `no' for an answer.

 

A wave of relief swept over her at their arrival, and a good portion of the tension in her shoulders eased when she spotted Asher stalking towards them, even if he looked to be teetering on the edge of his temper. His golden hair crackled around his head, and his eyes had gone to pale blue orbs of fury and concern as he surveyed the devastation that was once Theatre de Sang.

 

"Merde! Jean-Claude, your summons did not do justice to the depth of this calamity. You are all well? Uninjured?" he demanded, reaching for Anita as he spoke. He stroked her arms and tilted her head from side to side looking for damage.

 

She shrugged him off, appreciative of his concern but more than slightly annoyed that everyone treated her as the frail link. "We're fine, thank God," she scowled, her voice aggrieved. "I'm sure Jean-Claude has filled you in already, so you know how damn lucky we were. The three of us were originally supposed to be in his box, and that's where the biggest damage was done." Her brow furrowed as she gave another once over to the troops he had brought with him. Someone was missing that she expected to be present.

 

"Why didn't Requiem come with you?"

 

Asher shrugged, in that wonderful Gallic way of his that breathed self-assurance and an ever present tinge disdain. "Anita, would you have me leave us vulnerable elsewhere? I could not empty our home of all its protectors. The rest of Jean-Claude's businesses were immediately closed and locked down, and I left Requiem and the others to guard the Circus. I would have ordered Meng Die to assist as well, but felt it wiser to bring her here," he continued cautiously, his eyes sliding over to the Asian master vampire. Meng Die was strong in her own right, and had aspirations, Anita knew. Smart move keeping her where they could see her, in case she decided that opportunity was knocking at her door and she eliminated some rivals in the chaos.

 

Seemingly unaware of the arrival of his people, Jean-Claude had walked apart from the rest of them. He stood dead still, his face faraway as he gazed on the ruin of his building. Anita ached for him; she knew how much the devastation burned at him. There would be losses tonight; inevitable losses with that much destruction. It was the possible `who' of those losses that was slicing at his heart.

 

Asher approached him from behind, his arms encircling Jean-Claude's waist in a gesture meant to comfort and support. He knew where his companion's mind was; with those who were still trapped inside. Those who looked to him for protection and life.

 

Asher whispered in his ear, "Primo is conspicuously absent, as well as Byron. And I do not see Evariste, or his fellow performers. They are among the missing?"

 

"Oui," Jean-Claude answered tiredly. "And the Orchestra as well. The stage took the brunt of the explosion."

 

Asher paused, half afraid to ask about the most glaring omission.

 

"And your Pomme de Sang?"

 

Jean-Claude sighed. "Alive, pour ce qu'il vaut la peine. I fear for him, Asher. For him, and Byron, and the human Katie. And worst of all, I have only myself to blame. I put them there, mon chardonnet," he lamented softly. "Death makes no bargains and requires his just due. It seems that in obeying the witch's prophesy I inadvertently bargained for my Triumvirate's existence with their innocent lives."

 

Asher's visage turned feral. Deadly. "So. You truly believe that you were all meant to die this night."

 

Jean-Claude's eyes narrowed, and his hands tightened on his lover's arms. "Oui. There can be no doubt." His voice turned cold. "Whatever happens, Mon Ami, you are to find out who. Work with Claudia, but not the human authorities. Use whatever means necessary. But bring them to me. Alive."

 

Sirens howled closer, and Asher tightened his embrace. "As you command, mon seigneur. It will be my pleasure." He released Jean-Claude reluctantly and stepped back. "But for now we must deal with this unpleasantness. Human aid arrives; I will deal with them for you. "

 

******************************************************************

 

Cars were pouring into the lot, as the shifter cavalry began to arrive. Zerbrowski couldn't tell what kind they were, but it didn't matter really. What did matter was that, as yet, none of them had any skills that would assist beyond kicking someone's ass.

 

So when the first of the available emergency personnel arrived with a screech of tires, sirens wailing raucously in the night air, he breathed a sigh of relief and said a quick prayer of thanks. It was only an ambulance, and in reality it was a pitiful response to what was really needed to help the trapped, but it was a useable response none the less. With a feeling of déjà vu, Zerbrowski immediately recognized the familiar figure exiting the vehicle, bag in hand. It was the same woman who had responded to the 911 call months ago when Jason had been shot. Dougherty. That was her name. Patricia Dougherty. And she didn't look happy. Jesus, lunacy never ends, Dougherty thought as she jumped down from the cab of the ambulance. Shaking her head at the destruction, she quickly searched the area until she recognized the plainclothes detective that had been here before. He had to be the ranking police officer on the scene, so she jogged over to get apprised of the situation and be escorted to whatever triage area they had set up. Shouldering her emergency bag, Patricia held her hand out in greeting. "I know you, Sir. You were the RPIT officer who was here the day that shifter got shot," she said, shaking his hand sympathetically. She scanned the area, recognizing most of the

players there as the same from that chaotic night. With a bemused look on her face, she opined, "Hate to be the one to bring this up, but it looks like a god damned reunion around here. And I don't mean that in a good way." Her eyes widened as she recognized Asher coming towards here. That was one beautiful vampire, scars and all, and she was careful to keep her eyes averted as he approached.

 

"Mademoiselle. So good to see you once more," Asher said silkily. In truth, he was very happy to see this particular paramedic again. The woman was talented, professional, and fearless around his kind and lycanthropes.

 

"Likewise. Wish we'd meet under different circumstances though. Look, I may be Tom Dougherty's dumbest daughter, but based on the number of times I've been here for a catastrophe, even I'm wise enough to think this joint is jinxed. Should have razed it to the ground after the first incident." She looked around quizzically. "So where's the cute blond who got shot the first time?"

 

Asher shook his head as he laid his hand on her shoulder. "He's unaccounted for, unfortunately. But he's alive, though trapped inside."

 

Dougherty's face fell. Damn, the kid couldn't have been much more than his early twenties, and a likeable shit to boot. Time to get down to business and do her job. Another siren assaulted her ears, and she twisted back to see a second ambulance unit pull up. They may not be able to help the poor bastards buried in the rubble, but by God they would tend to those who had made it out. Two units weren't a lot, but they were better than nothing. She squared her shoulders and got professional. "Where do you want us?"

**********************************************************************

 

"Ow!"

 

Damn it, she'd been better off staying unconscious, Katie thought to herself as cataloged all her aches and pains. She'd woken to blackness, her head throbbing and her nose clogged with blood and dust. It taken a few minutes to blink the gumminess out of her eyes and to adjust to the inky darkness. Hell, she still couldn't tell which way was up, and she sat up cautiously to appraise her situation. In a matter of seconds she came to an unsatisfactory and less than brilliant conclusion to her predicament.

 

"This can't be good."

 

She knew she couldn't have been out long; the last thing she remembered was the explosion, and the sound of the chains snapping around her just before the box lurched and tossed her sickeningly into thin air. Her throat was raw from the smoke, and her screams as she fell, plummeting downward to what she had figured to be certain 

death. Probably would have been, too if not for Byron. He'd saved her, his arms encircling her waist just before she hit the ground. He hadn't been able to stop her fall completely, but he sure slowed her down and cushioned it, twisting the two of them in midair so that he struck the ground first, then rolling her away from the falling balcony. She hissed in pain as she cautiously moved her arms and legs. God knew how, but other then scrapes and bruises, and one hell of a headache, she seemed to be uninjured.

 

She fervently hoped the same could be said of her companions, as she felt around in the dark for their bodies.

 

She found Byron lying to her right, unnaturally still and half pinned under debris. Jason was partially underneath him; unconscious, but panting shallowly. She felt stifled and claustrophobic trapped under the overturned box, and she desperately needed companionship. Crawling over to the blond werewolf, she stroked his cheek, crooning his name mindlessly. "Jason, wake up. Please wake up. Come on, sweetie, we have to get out of here, and I can't do it on my own."

 

Thankfully, it wasn't long before she got a response. Jason groaned, his hands reaching up to cradle his head in pain. It took a few moments before he was able to focus on her.

 

For once, he got straight to the point. "What the fuck happened?" he questioned hoarsely.

 

She felt his limbs for any breaks, and filled him in on their current situation. "I don't know. One minute, we're having a grand time watching the show, the next minute it's sounding as though Armageddon's taking place and we're tumbling to the ground." She rubbed his arm mindlessly, soothing and calming him as he oriented himself. Her voice shook a little as she continued. "It's dark in here, and I'm a little woozy, but I think we're trapped, Jason. Byron's pinned. I don't know how badly he's hurt, but he needs help and we're stuck under here. I can't stand up, and I can't move anything. Can you see what you can do? You're stronger, right? As a werewolf?"

 

She moved back as Jason rolled to a kneeling position, and bracing his shoulders, experimentally shoved against the floor of the box. Well, roof of the box now that it was upended over them. The upside down nature of their prison was what had her so disoriented before. Muscles bulging, he managed to move it only slightly before grunting and allowing it to fall back into place.

 

Jason coughed and shook his head. "I'm more powerful as a shifter, but I'm not superman, Katie. There has to be more rubble on top. You're right; I think we're trapped." His nostrils flared, and Katie's guts turned to liquid as she looked into his eyes. They'd turned color, from a pretty sky blue to a grass green, and had taken on a panicked animalistic tint. She could feel his shoulder quivering under her hand. This definitely couldn't be good; she was barely holding it together ,and Jason, a werewolf, was beginning to panic.

 

She rubbed his back comfortingly, slow circles meant to soothe and relax. "Come on, Jason. Calm down. We're still alive; hell, things could be a lot worse," Katie placated, careful to keep her voice reasonable and in control.

 

She shuddered as she heard his voice thicken, changing from the lilting banter that was Jason to a deeper, coarser tone. "Can't you smell that?" he rumbled, a sheen of sweat blanketing his face, his muscles twitching. "The theatre's on fire. I can scent smoke, and blood. I can feel the heat. And we're cornered here." His chest began to heave as he hyperventilated his anxiety, his body tensing and twisting with the need to do something, but stymied by the inability to act. "We have to get out before the flames get us. We'll burn alive. We have to get out," he repeated, the last in an angry growled whisper that sent a chill down her spine.

 

Fearfully, Katie scooted backwards until her head slammed into the opposite end of the box and she could go no further. She liked Jason, and had trusted him, but she had never had a glimpse of his beast before. It terrified her, and everything that Zee had been telling her came crashing back. Shifters weren't just cuddly furred people; they had the instincts of the animals they had been infected with, and cornered, frightened beasts were dangerous.

 

The distance helped calm her, now that he was no more than a dim profile in her vision. It was a short lived calm, though, as an odd popping noise and eerie snarls assaulted her ears. She fervently wished she could take back her prior words.

 

She was pretty damn sure things had just gotten a lot worse.


	20. Chapter Twenty

Being the one to sit back and wait just fucking sucks, Anita thought sagely, her hand surreptitiously stroking the butt handle of her Firestar. She'd tucked it, secure in her belly band, into the small of her back for proprieties sake. Her thigh holster was a little to revealing a grab in public; and more to the point, the back draw could be done on the sly with no one the wiser.

 

She was alone; all her men were off in their own worlds. She'd respectfully stayed back from Jean-Claude and Asher's interlude. Not that she thought she was interrupting anything; more to the point, the two vampires lived and breathed clandestine and revenge, and more power to them. Whoever had done this deserved the horrible fate Belle's children were hatching, and she pretty much felt that `don't ask, don't tell' was in her best interest at the moment. Well, maybe not completely. If Katie or Jason died this night, then vampires were the least nightmare whoever had done this had to worry about. 

 

Her eyes sought out her other trimate. Richard was conferring with the pack; as lupa, she had a right to join in. Hell, she should have joined in, but mindful of Mariann's bloody commandment, she was staying back and keeping a low profile. Keeping a useless profile, she thought morosely. And it was killing her.

 

Even Micah and Nathaniel were with Zerbrowski, helping Lillian and Cherry get set up. The RPIT tent had been converted to a first aid center, and the two wereleopards were muscle, moving the wounded and hauling supplies from Lillian SUV. A step and fetch it job, but a needed one nonetheless.

 

Loud, angry voices yanked her out of her musings and her attention to the parking lot. Anita glowered at the argument taking place outside the police tape. As with any disaster, the explosion had attracted the usual coterie of gawkers, ambulance chasers, curious passersby, and various other vermin that loved death and destruction. Such as the press.

 

She'd never felt comfortable with the media and their thirst for bad news and dirt. Bottom feeding spawns of Satan. Her apologies to the bottom feeders of the universe who happened to be related to the prince of darkness for the derogatory comparison.

 

Just like the inevitability of death and taxes, the news crews had arrived hard on the heels of the paramedics. And everyone called lawyers ambulance chasers, Anita gritted to herself, wisely staying quiet lest she attract attention, but still unable to completely erase the look of disdain on her face. Screw it; anyone who wanted to sneak a photo of her now would get themselves a bona fide honest shot.

 

Unfortunately, someone had to talk to them, to keep everything peaceful and orderly. And to keep them from prying where it was inopportune and unwelcome. Normally Jean-Claude reveled in the publicity and spotlight; he was the vampire poster child, after all. But Jean-Claude's temper was strained this evening, and his willingness and ability to charm had vanished with his theatre. Besides, he wasn't the one in charge; he had relinquished responsibility of the club to Damian, and it was his job as manager to deal with the land sharks.

 

Anita watched as the tall redhead smoothly conversed with the frenzied journalists. She had to admit, Damian had risen to the challenge. Who knew that centuries of cultivating a calm demeanor in the presence of a card carrying psychopath would enable him to handle a hoard of slavering, amoral reporters sniffing around a potentially juicy story? Her vampire was polite, unruffled, tight lipped and completely in control. It also didn't hurt that he had an imposing wall of muscle at his back in the form of Claudia and Fredo.

 

The two wererat security guards were large, bloody, and looked angry enough to rip someone's arm off and beat them to death with it. Overly obnoxious or boisterous reporter? A simple narrowing of Claudia's eyes, a small curling of her lip to reveal canines, and the miscreant in question suddenly felt the need to change their underwear. It was an enlightening experience. Next press conference she was forced to attend, Claudia was tagging along as well.

 

Anita rolled her eyes at the shouted questions and assorted whining, and tucked herself further into the shadows. She knew most of the voices and faces surrounding Damian. She also knew that they'd relish the opportunity to incorporate a quote or two from The

Executioner as well.

 

For the moment, Hugh James of FOX News was the loudest baby bird. "Damian! DAMIAN! Can you tell us what exactly happened here tonight?"

 

Damian turned deceptively serene eyes in the man's direction. His voice almost devoid of inflection, he offered, "No, simply because we do not know ourselves. There was an explosion the building was evacuated, and people are trapped inside. St. Louis fire and rescue equipment are on their way, but will not get here for at least another half hour due to the fire in the human Tenderloin district."

 

Ouch. Anita knew Hugh would be all over that little statement. Brown eyes gleaming at a potential racist angle, the reporter oozed, "You said Human District. Do you feel that the Master of the City's club is being discriminated against because it's owned and staffed by preternaturals?"

 

Damian wisely refused to rise to the bait. "No. I simply stated the truth. Assistance is not immediately available because the departments who would normally have responded here were needed elsewhere. I made no claims of bias. That idea is solely your own."

 

Anita smirked as the green eyed vampire serenely turned his back on an open mouthed James and looked elsewhere for another question.

 

Lyndsay Davenport of the local station KMOV garnered his attention. "Damian! Why are we being held back from interviewing any of the guests?"

 

She could see that one puzzled him in its stupidity. A tinge of irritation was beginning to creep into his voice. "I would think that would be obvious. They have been through a trauma, and some of them are being treated for injuries. In addition, we cannot guarantee your safety if we allow you to pass through."

 

Lyndsay was dogged, and by her expression not believing a word of that. "If it's a safety issue, then who are all those other people you let through? And why was Irving Griswold allowed in? He's newspaper, for God's sake! He always has an unfair advantage with interviews and stories! Do you and your employer dislike broadcast media for some reason?"

 

Damian graced Davenport with a smile. Or it could have been a grimace. It was hard to tell from the angle she was at. "Not at all," he appeased. The people you inquired about are here to assist, in the absence of the proper authorities. Mr. Griswold is here to assist as well."

 

Damn. That was a tactical error. Unwilling to interrupt, Anita waited for his response.

 

Even Claudia disliked the path of that questioning, and laid a warning hand on Damian's back. He schooled his features into an expressionless mask.

 

Lyndsay's blue eyes widened in faked surprise. "Assist? How can they assist? They all look like run of the mill citizens! Where's their equipment? Their credentials? What's really going on here, Damian?"

 

The one good thing about vampires was that they never felt the need to be polite simply for the sake of being polite. Damian abruptly whirled and exited the area, Claudia hard in his wake.

 

"That's all for questions. I am needed elsewhere."

 

 

**********************************************************************

 

A command center, of sorts, had formed around the RPIT table, of the human and preternatural leaders. Dozens of shifters had poured in, responding to their alphas' summons, but the only ones who were any use at the moment were Lillian and Cherry, with their medical backgrounds. The rest milled around restlessly, subordinates patiently awaiting instructions, dominants eavesdropping on the fringes of their alphas, itching to assist but at the moment useless and ignored.

 

At least one lower ranked pack member was wishing he could be on the fringes, anonymous and safe. As soon as he arrived, he'd been whisked into the presence of his Ulfric, Lupa, the Master of the City, the Nimir-raj of the leopards, and the leader of the Regional Preternatural squad. Patrick knew he had done nothing wrong, but the amount of incensed energy pouring across his skin had him on his knees cowering, like a proper submissive wolf.

 

Anita understood the gesture and the instinct, but there was no time for this. "Patrick, look; you're the only expert we've got here, and we don't have all night. What the hell can we do to get those people out?"

 

She wasn't the only one wound tight, either. Zerbrowski had stood aside, not interfering in what he'd deemed was shifter and vampire territory, but protocol be damned. He wanted action.

 

"What the hell's wrong with him?" Zerbrowski demanded, gesturing at the prostrate man, not bothering to contain the confusion and frustration from his voice. It'd been close to an hour since the explosion, and all they had accomplished was to gather manpower and tend the wounded. None of which was helping to rescue Katie, or any of the others.

 

Richard held up a consoling hand. "Nothing's wrong, Lieutenant," he said quietly. "Just a little too much power for Patrick to handle at the moment. He hasn't been a wolf for very long, and he isn't ranked high in the pack," Richard explained, motioning towards the cringing man. "This will be handled."

 

He looked at Jean-Claude intently; an understanding passed between them, and the vampire gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head. Satisfied, Richard turned back to the Lieutenant. "Don't worry; Jean-Claude will settle him down. He's got a knack for that with wolves. Patrick's our best chance right now; he's in construction, and is a former firefighter from Wisconsin. If anyone can advise us, it's him."

 

Dubious, Zerbrowski argued, "Why let the blood sucker handle this? Isn't this your jurisdiction, so to speak? Aren't you Ulfric, or Wolfgod, or whatever?"

 

The muscles in Richard's shoulders bunched, the only outward sign of his irritation. "I haven't abdicated, if that's what you mean. Jean-Claude has more experience handling people, more control. It's just quicker this way."

 

They both turned to watch as Jean-Claude drifted purposefully over to the supine shifter. Wolves were his animal to call, and he had dominion over them. He ran a hand along Patrick's back, pouring his power into the quaking man, soothing him and taking his mind. "Be at peace, my wolf. No harm will come to you. We desperately need your assistance."

 

Patrick's eyes drooped, and his breathing softened into a relaxed cadence. He leaned into Jean-Claude's legs, the tension gone from his body.

 

"What do you need me to do?"

 

Jean-Claude pulled him to his feet. "Come. Help us save our people."

 

**********************************************************************

 

Katie had gotten farther away, satisfying her flight instinct, but there were drawbacks. Like not being able to see him clearly, or what the hell was going on. Jason was just a shadow, a morphing silhouette in the far smoke and dark. She shivered as she glimpsed his shape change, and the sound of his flesh and bones reshaping themselves echoed loudly in the confines of the box. A liquid sound, it was, and she startled and moaned as she felt a viscous fluid seep under her hand. His outline was larger now, and getting bigger as he crawled towards her.

 

It was too much; the explosion, being trapped, Jason going wolf. When faced with the overwhelming, Katie's mind did the only thing left; in a childlike gesture, she closed her eyes and simply waited for the inevitable.

 

She shivered as her mind registered the impossible feel of fur across her forearm. That's Jason; that's Jason.. she chanted to herself, trying rein in the hysterics that were threatening to overwhelm her. Something sniffed her hair, and a tiny squeak of terror escaped from her tight throat.

 

"Oh God, don't eat me, Jason," she whispered, a small tear trickling out of her clenched right eye.

 

A cool snout nuzzled her neck, seconds before a warm, wet tongue licked the tear from her cheek. A comforting, gravely voice rasped in response, "EAT you? I hope you are referring to euphemistically, because if you are alluding to cannibalism here I'm going to have to bite you out of principal." Jason's voice was tense, and still slightly tremulous, but calmer. More in control and himself.

 

"C'mon Katie, open you eyes. It's ok. I know this is all a little scary, but the wolf comes out in extreme cases. I'm just stronger in this form, and feel more capable of handling things like this. But I'm still me."

 

Slowly, she relaxed her lids and opened her eyes. Jason was in wolfman form, all grey fur and imposing strength. She wiped the back of her hand across her wet face, and rubbed the cold spot on her neck where he had nuzzled her. A ghost of a smile began to trace across her lips. "Guess you're healthy, huh?" she murmured, half to herself.

 

He allowed his jaw to loll open, his red tongue hanging out in a wolfy equivalent of a smirk. "Obviously an observation pertaining to my massive physique?"

 

Her shadow smile blossomed into a full fledged one, and her breathing slowed to a state somewhere between fearful and out and out panic . "No, it's an observation about your nose. My daddy always said a cold nose meant a dog was healthy."

 

Jason sneezed in response. "Because I like you, I'm going to let the dog comment go for now. And we shifters prefer to say `cold nose, warm heart', thank you very much!" he mock growled, raising his hackles in protest.

 

Katie couldn't help it; she laughed at the display. More at ease, she reached out a tentative hand and stroked it down his now massive chest, savoring the soft feeling of his pelt. "My God, you're beautiful," she breathed. No longer frightened out of her mind, she was awed by his shifted state, and relaxed to the fact that regardless of the outside, inside it was still Jason.

 

He gave her a wolfish grin. While still anxious, he was more in control in this form, and he made a valiant attempt to continue the humor to help settle himself and her. "Feel free to stroke lower if you want, Katie girl. I'll deal with the Mister later."

 

His antics worked, for the both of them. Yep, Katie thought ruefully. Still Jason underneath all that teeth and hair. She stopped stroking and started smacking. "You just shut up and start pushing. Poor Byron is crushed underneath over there, and I for one would rather be outside this building then in. And I don't think we can afford to just sit back and wait for help."

 

His nostrils flared as he once again scented the air. "I agree. I don't like this; never could stand tight places. Let's see what I can do."

 

Bracing his back against the highest corner, his legs and arms corded with the strain, he shoved as hard as he could. Several groaning, frustrating moments passed, and all he could manage was only a few inches of movement. It wasn't budging; even with her help, it wasn't enough leverage. And they couldn't move it near enough to do Byron any good. She was frightened for the vampire. Even though Jason assured her that his lack of movement didn't mean he was dead for good, she still felt that time was running out for the lad. She didn't want him to die; hell, she didn't want any of them to die, but she felt a certain obligation to the vampire for sacrificing himself to save her.

 

Jason let out a yip of frustration as he allowed the load to once again settle to the ground. "It's hopeless. I can't move it," he lamented as he rubbed his sore shoulder. Uselessly, he clawed the confining wood in frustration, snarling as his hands left long furrows in the hard mahogany. He sniffed the air once again, hips lips curling back as his atavistic fear once again began to take hold.

 

"The smoke is getting thicker, Katie, and I don't hear any sounds of a rescue."

 

He turned his wolfish snout in her direction. "I'm sorry, Katie. I tried, but it's too much for me to lift. We're going to die here. We're going to burn up and die, and there's nothing I can do to prevent it." He threw his head back and howled his pain and frustration, a long, loud warbling sound that had her choking back a sob. She embraced him, pulling his furry body close, and whispered, "I'm here, hon. You're not alone. At least that counts for something."

 

*******************************************************************

 

"What do you think, Patrick? Is it feasible to do this ourselves?" Richard questioned, as they huddled over the blueprints Claudia had conjured up for them.

 

"What, dig them out? Sure. That isn't the problem," Patrick lectured, calmer now that he was in territory he had experience with. "We know the exact area they're trapped in, and the materials used in the construction of the building. Even without equipment, in Were form we're strong enough to dig them out by hand, and quite frankly it's better that way. We won't run the risk of inadvertently hurting someone. But we can't do Jack shit until a fire truck gets here."

 

He pulled in a deep breath of air. "Can't you smell it, Ulfric? Something's burning inside, and if we go in without dousing equipment we might just get ourselves hurt, or worse, cause a back draft and incinerate the poor bastards were trying to rescue all the quicker."

 

Smith chimed in hesitantly. He was out of his league, and knew it, but this was information they needed to hear. "ETA on the engines is five minutes."

 

Triumphant, Richard turned back to his wolf. "There's your fire trucks, Patrick. But be sure of this; can we do it by hand?"

 

There was no hesitation in his answer; Patrick was confident in his estimation. "If we shift, there's no doubt. I brought bracing timbers with me if we need them. It can be done."

 

That statement had many of the lycanthropes shifting uneasily where they stood. They had all seen the camera crews, and many of them were still in the closet.

 

Sylvie was the first to confront her wolf king. "Richard, we've all done what we can. If we shift, there's no going back for a lot of us," she argued. "You know I'll follow and obey you, but this is asking too much. What guarantee do we have that we'd have any success? Manually digging through God knows how many tons of debris? Are you willing to risk your life, all of our lives, for something that might not work anyway?"

 

Richard's eyes blazed as he listened to his Freki's argument, a dissent he could see duplicated in the eyes of many of his people. Eyes that were locked on him, looking to him for leadership and guidance. He felt as though he was teetering at the edge of something huge, something that he had been hurdling towards all of his life. Resolve took hold as he understood what was needed. Theywere looking to him for answers, to be their Ulfric. And, by God, he was going to deliver.

 

And it wasn't just Thronnos Rokke that was looking to him for guidance. Zerbrowski was staring at him intently, and his heart went out to the man. He knew the Lieutenant's wife was still trapped inside, and that the officer was impotent to do anything to help her. Humanity wasn't going ride to the rescue on this one; whether legitimate or duped, the equipment they needed was elsewhere and not likely to get here in any time to do good.

 

Zerbrowski mouthed one word to him, quietly, confident that even over the distance separating them Richard's preternatural hearing would pick up what he was saying. "Please," he pleaded, his voice flat. "If there's anything you and your people can do for Katie and Jason, and the rest of vampires, please do it."

 

Flashing lights and strident tones were flying up the roadway to the theatre. The fire engines had finally arrived. Richard stood taller, his power flowing through the assembled werewolves. "I hear what you are saying, Sylvie, but we have pack trapped inside. Are all of you willing to allow Jason to die to protect yourselves? The others to burn so that your identities are safe?"

 

The exchange hadn't gone unnoticed, on several fronts. The stymied news crews, who had been pacing around the edges of the police barriers, stilled parallel to where they had noticed the gathering, and the reporters had their cameramen concentrating on the discussion. Anita, too, had been listening intently to Richard, and she frantically grabbed Jean-Claude's arm as she realized what he was about to do. "Jean-Claude, stop him. He's going to expose himself here. It doesn't have to be this way."

 

But Jean-Claude did nothing but go still in anticipation. "Non, Ma Petite, it is exactly the way it should be. It is his choice, not ours, and he goes to his fate willingly and with resolve. Can you not feel it? There is no conflict in him, no anxiety. He is right with himself, and this decision. Do not ruin it by making him doubt his certitude. This is what the sorci�re wished to happen, the good that was to come of all this. Have you ever felt Richard more powerful, more at peace? Drop your shields and deny it if you can."

 

Anita looked down, forcing her body to let go, allowing her mind to deconstruct the self-preservation walls she created to shield herself from the constant presence of her tri-mates. She gasped audibly as Richard's personality slammed into her, bright and shiny, an unwavering force. Jean-Claude was right. There was no recriminations, no guilt, no doubt to be seen. Just a solid wall of righteousness.

 

Suddenly a mournful howl sounded from inside the ruins of the theatre. Even muffled, the fear and hopelessness of the cry sent shivers down the spines of all present, and tears filled more than one eye.

 

Jean-Claude whirled around, and only Anita's restraining hand kept him from plunging into the wreckage of the building to rescue his Pomme de Sang.

 

"Jason," he whispered.

 

Richard stared back at the smoldering rubble a long moment, before turning back to the crowd. "We are Lukoi. We protect our own." He threw his head back and gave an answering howl in return, his powerful body bursting fluids as he shifted to his manwolf form.

 

Surprised shouts and camera flashes accompanied lit up the night from the assembled media. They'd gotten the show they'd come for, but it was only the opening act.

 

Because to a person, every wolf lycanthrope present shifted with Richard, howling and barking in reply to Jason's call for help, a comforting sound meant to tell their brother, We are here. And we're coming.

 

Richard flung one massive arm back towards the collapsed building, and barked out a single command.

 

"We dig."


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

Katie could feel Jason’s chest thumping against her entwined arms, and her heart went out to the boy. Christ, he was hip deep in it again and sinking fast. Once again, the thought crossed her mind that he hadn’t lived long enough to really enjoy life, and she doubted the past couple of years had been easy on him. Damn it, she railed to herself, it wasn’t fair. Byron lay trapped because of his sacrifice. Jason’s short life was about to come to an end, just because he’d ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time. And herself; that was the worst fucking part of this. The one time she got to be special, to be upper class elegant, and it bit her right in the ass. Figured. And worse of all, deep down, she knew Zee wasn’t going to deal well with life without her. She took comfort in knowing he was out there, trying his level best to save her, but somehow she thought everything was just plain too much for them both this time.

 

And her kids. Her eyes welled up at that though. Jesus, her kids. It was Halloween, and she’d promised to take them trick or treating this year, instead of Daddy. Kristy in her Wonder Woman outfit, Frankie dressed up as Spiderman…she buried her face in the fur of Jason’s back, and let her tears flow silently. Cold reality was hitting her right between the eyes, and her only solace at the moment was crying her eyes out into Jason’s warm pelt. She was never going to see her husband or kids again, so she clutched the only other warm blooded thing in her reality for comfort.

 

And even that was turning sour on her.

 

Jason stiffened against her embrace, and her furred Teddy Bear was suddenly balking and pulling away from her arms. She had no idea what was setting him off now, but Jason was practically quivering in excitement, a far cry from the despondent pup he’d been only a moment ago. The stripper was mercurial in his disposition, and an unbidden amusing thought crept into the back of her mind. If we somehow beat the odds and get out of this, that boy is going to need some serious drugs for his mood swings. Good thing he’s getting a psychology degree; what was the saying? Physician, heal thyself?

 

Unbidden and wholly inappropriate. Just shut up, Katie! She chided herself. This wasn’t a time for frivolity, and she shrugged off her inane musings to watch her companion. Jason clenched his eyes closed, and pointed his snout slightly into the air as he canted his ears forward. They quivered as he strained to listen; then suddenly, with a yelp of delight, he whirled around and bowled her over onto the ground.

 

“Richard!” he whined excitedly, his tail wagging uncontrollably as he licked her face.

 

Katie held her arms up defensively, trying to stop the onslaught of his exuberant tongue. “Jason, stop! It’s bad enough I’m going to die, but do I have to do it covered in wolf slobber?”

 

Jason obliged, and just straddled her happily, nuzzling her neck before warbling out a series of barks and howls of sheer delight. She grabbed twin handfuls of fur and pulled his face towards her. Shining, pale green eyes looked happily down into her own, and his wolf lips were curled back from his snout in a very human-like smile of joy.

 

She was happy he’d lost his woeful look, but none of his antics were cluing her into why he was suddenly happy as the proverbial pig in slop and she was starting to get a little cranky. She couldn’t hear a damn thing to make her think help was nearby, so near as she could tell they were still going to die. She shook him a little impatiently, and demanded, “What about Richard?”

 

Jason’s tongue lolled out as he panted his excitement, his eyes crinkling slightly in amusement at her ire. “Poor normal ears. Can’t you hear that? Richard’s howl, and the pack’s? They haven’t left me. They haven’t left us. And they’re coming.” He renewed his frenzied licking of her chin and neck.

 

She didn’t even care. Hope sparked in her soul. Maybe, just maybe, they would get out of this alive.

 

************************************************************************

 

Richard’s gaze raked over his shifted people. His power blanketed the area as a palatable force, like shimmering heat waves on a hot August afternoon. The wolf was exultant, relishing the bond and his clan’s immediate obedience to his call. Tawny eyes made note of the fact that the Pard and Rodere present had melted away, respectful of the wolves’ desire to meld, to offer comfort to a wounded and frightened comrade. The man in him was proud; of his people’s unselfish response to a member in need, and of his own rising to the challenge. He felt complete. Powerful, and in command. And oddly, at peace.

 

Jamil sidled up to his Ulfric, and brushed against him in a familiar pack gesture. A comfort gesture in a time of stress, that was a true indication of his tense state. “There’s no going back now, Ulfric. For any of them.”

 

Richard shrugged. He was riding a high of self-satisfaction, of rightness, and he felt the same muted emotions of his Trimates through the marks. Instinctively, he lowered his shielding, wanting and needing the additional power for the task ahead. ‘Bravo, Mon Ami,’ was Jean-Claude’s only comment. He could feel the vampire’s elation at his decision, tinged with no small amount of smugness that it was about time. He tried to work up an anger about it, but hell, the man was right. But it was Anita’s emotions that surprised him the most. He could feel her unconditional support; that she would be behind him no matter what the consequences of his actions were. ‘Why so surprised, Richard? Give me some credit; I’m not about to run screaming in the other direction again,’ Anita’s voice whispered tartly in his mind. He smiled inwardly; she was pissed at his reaction, but trying not to exacerbate the situation by getting into a snarl fest with him over it. As dysfunctional as it was, Richard had to admit that the whole mental interchange between the three of them had a comfortable, old married couple feel to it.

 

He focused his attention back on his Skoll. The black wolf was still leaning against his pack leader, subconsciously licking the air as a calming gesture to his Ulfric, his dark eyes staring expectantly at his Alpha for a response. Richard opened his immense jaw and gently closed it over the back of Jamil’s neck, a mouthing gesture meant to comfort and reassure. “It’s going to be OK. We’ll deal with the repercussions of this later. Right now let’s just concentrate on saving Jason and the others.”

 

Jamil nodded in acceptance. He spoke softly, for his Ulfric’s ears only. “Do you think the boy heard? Did we give him some hope?”

 

Almost prophetic in it’s timing, they all could hear Jason’s excited yowls and yips, faint but true, echo from under the smoldering debris.

 

Richard’s heart soared, but before he could respond, his ears picked up the sounds of familiar behind him. It was Jean-Claude; and hard on his heals, his face a drawn mask of concern, strode Zerbrowski. “The boy knows,” Jean-Claude said assuredly. His eyes went soft. “I have tried to convey to him that help is on the way.”

 

Richard stared at the Jean-Claude, finally seeing a new side to the man. He cared; beyond being his animal to call, and his Pomme de Sang, he finally understood that the vampire truly, deeply cared for Jason. The night was replete with honest appraisals and revelations.

 

Zerbrowski hesitantly touched the vampire’s sleeve, and cleared his throat. Richard could hear the anguish in his hoarse voice as he asked, “And Katie? Do you know anything about Katie?”

 

Jean-Claude shook his head sympathetically. “Non, Lieutenant. I am sorry, but I cannot feel her like I do my Pomme. But rest assured; if she lives, Jason will guard her safety. As would Byron, were he conscious.” Zerbrowski nodded his head miserably. It was small comfort, but all he had to hold onto at the moment. Jean-Claude looked expectantly at his wolf. ‘This is your pack, and your rescue, my wolf. I await your instructions’.

 

Richard’s hackles raised slightly, his tail going stiff in outrage. ‘Thanks for the support, but how many times do I have to tell you I’m not your damn wolf’? Jean-Claude shrugged expressively. ‘As many times as I will patiently explain to you that you are. But is this the time or place?’

 

Stupid, stubborn, arrogant French vampire….‘Damn it! Then shut up and let me handle this!’ Richard snapped back through the marks, before brusquely turning all business as he focused on the job at hand. He clapped Jamil on the back, and only the enforcer’s strength kept him upright. “And I’ll take those noises as a yes as well. Let’s move, people, before he has a heart attack in there.”

 

The pack coalesced around their leader; Jamil and Sylvie taking up flanking positions around their Ulfric, as was their status and due. Patrick held up a cautionary hand. “The firefighters aren’t set up yet, Richard. We can’t move too quickly…”

 

But he was talking to the back of his Ulfric and Alphas. Richard commented perfunctorily over his shoulder, “If you were in Jason’s shoes, Patrick, I’d bet you’d think we weren’t moving fast enough. We can start on some of the outer debris without endangering ourselves while they get set up.”

 

Many eyes watched the wolves lope towards the ruins, Zerbrowski’s among them. Funny how fate was; his hopes were riding on the same man he spent the last few weeks seeking, no hounding the truth on. His gut had known Richard was important, but just how personally important he’d never would have guessed.

 

And wonder of wonders, he was also relying on fang face to help his Katie. No, he corrected himself. Don’t call him that. The man’s doing the level best to get everyone safe. He didn’t deserve the pejorative and flip nicknames.

 

“Can they do it, Jean-Claude?” he questioned, his voice calm in spite of his clenched stomach. He wanted an honest appraisal from the vampire, and his eyes stared heedlessly and earnestly into the sapphire blue depths of the Master of the City’s eyes.

 

“Oui. If anyone has the power, it is Richard and his pack. And my Kiss. We will not let them burn without a fight.” It wasn’t a blanket reassurance, but it was a straightforward one. And one that Zerbrowski could accept.

 

Jean-Claude looked beyond the Lieutenant to the assembled reporters, and gave a silent summons to his Temoin. “But it appears that is not the only fight we will engage in this night. Go, Monsieur, see to your men and the human firemen. I will see to this unpleasantness.”

 

************************************************************************

 

Jean-Claude had no intention of dealing with this himself. His involvement, because of his standing and relationships, would only exacerbate the situation. Like the scent of blood amongst sharks. Non, he would not try to placate the media. He had other resources for that. Why else did one employ capable people?

 

“Claudia,” he commanded, confident that the wererat was focusing on his presence and desires.

 

He was correct in his assumption. Claudia glided towards him, her lycanthrope power cloaked around her in an angry, unrequited cloud. “Yes, Jean-Claude?” she clipped, her jaw clenched in suppressed fury.

 

He jerked his chin at the assembled cameras. “What’s done is done; but I will not have the tension of my people’s rescue displayed as entertainment for humanity’s jaded viewing pleasure. Make them leave or stop, your decision. I will deal with the repercussion.”

 

A feral, evil grin graced her face. Finally, some action that could involve violence. Just what her beast ordered. “You got it, Sir,” she nodded as she made her way over to the reporters. She motioned Fredo to follow her.

 

“Time to pull the plug on the press, Amigo.”

 

Jean-Claude watched her imposing back. “Asher…” he whispered. It wasn’t necessary for him to say any more.

 

A familiar arm snaked around his waist. “Oui. I know. I will make sure they are amenable to your wishes, Jean-Claude. Quietly. And I will also ensure your security harms no one.”

 

************************************************************************

 

Hot damn, FINALLY some action! Fredo thought, smiling in anticipation; he enjoyed trouble, and even more, thought the blond Ms. Davenport was da bomb.

 

He lengthened his stride until he was parallel with the taller shifter. “Hey, Claudia, ya think she’d want to film a rat change? Be the highlight of her life!”

 

Claudia narrowed her eyes and spared a glance back. “Doubt it, big guy. The dogs get all the romance. No one wants to see a human sized rat.”

 

Fredo sighed in disgust. Bad press; that’s all it was, bad press. “It’s all Hollywood’s fault, Claudia. They always got all the cool movies. What did we get? Fucking Willard. There’s no justice.”

 

She clapped him on the back consolingly. “It’s for the better, Amigo. We don’t get hassled, we got all the same strengths, and Raphael has attracted all the military best for the Rodere.” Her eyes crinkled with affection as she thought of her king. ‘Course, if they were to film anyone, it would be our benevolent king. Have you ever looked at that man?”

 

Fredo pushed off from Claudia in disgust. Tall, dark, and Antonio Banderas like; that’s what got the attention.

 

No justice at all. “Fucking women!”

 

************************************************************************

 

Lyndsay Davenport felt like she was having an out of body experience. Or an orgasm; she wasn’t sure which. Considering the absolute waves of delight coursing through her body, she was going with orgasm.

 

She let her microphone drop as she whirled around on her cameraman. “Please, please, please tell me you filmed that, Matty.”

 

“Got every second of it boss, including sound.” He canted his head from behind his camera and gave her a leer. “Got you all hot and wet, didn’t it?”

 

She took the time to flip the arrogant little prick off properly. “I’m going to get a Porsche out of this story, you mouthy little shit. And a bonus. Hell, we’re all going to get bonuses if we play this right. And did you see that little bastard Griswold change too? I knew he had an in somehow! Wait until that gets back to his lousy little paper!” She turned her attention to her sound truck. “Hector! You get me on the air, pronto! Before that asshole Hugh beats us to it!”

 

“Way ahead of you, boss lady! You’re on in three, two, one…LIVE!”

 

Hell, this might even be good enough to win her a Murrow…“Good Evening, this is Lyndsay Davenport of KMOV news, reporting outside of the destroyed Theatre de Sang, St. Louis’ Vampire Master of the City’s newest and grandest business venture. It has been a remarkable evening, a preternatural evening, and the footage I am about to show you will shock and amaze you. No one knows the circumstances involved, but an explosion has trapped people inside the wreckage, human and otherwise, and fire company presence is woefully slow. All seemed lost; any chance of a rescue slim, when the local werewolf pack appears to have taken matters into their own hands. What you are about to see and hear was phenomenal and heart wrenching. If you listen closely, you will be able to make out coming from inside the burning building a sad and barely discernible cry, like a dog or wolf in pain. Outside, an amazing transformation as every werewolf, or at least I’m assuming that to be true, shifted and howled back. It is this reporter’s belief that, city aid or no city aid, they intend to rescue their trapped brother or sister.”

 

She cued Hector, and the footage they had filmed earlier began to play on the airwaves. Take that, Fox! Bet we got it out first!

 

A voice whispered frantically behind her. “Lyndsay. LYNDSAY! We have incoming and they look pissed!”

 

Lyndsay looked up in time to see the two security people who had stood behind the vampire Damian during his brief and altogether uninformative press conference homing in on her and her broadcast. And right on their heels a gorgeous blond, no golden haired vampire. This was getting too good to be true; the story of the lifetime was about to be augmented by an attempt to squash the broadcast. Her plucky, impassioned battle to have the truth told would have a wet eye in every watching St Louis household.

 

She schooled her face into a mask of concern, and concentrated on tears as she snarled at her cameraman, “Matt, don’t you dare stop that tape! You fucking get this on film as well! I don’t want to interrupt that broadcast!”

 

Her face on reflecting a look of concern, she cued her mike and continued. “One moment, please. We appear to have drawn the attention of the establishment’s security, and what I believe may be one of the high ranking vampires of St Louis.” There was a brief audio scuffle as she dropped her mike to her side and advanced upon the approaching Wares.

 

Well, the best defense was a good offence, and with a false sense of bravado she bluffed, “Excuse me, but did you have another statement to make?’

 

She may as well try to intimidate a nor’easter. Claudia stopped in front of her, and hands on hips, demanded, “Just this; your presence and filming is at an end. Fredo? Disable the camera. This isn’t a game, lady. People’s lives are at stake, and damned if we’re going to let our friends be turned into the amusement of the night.”

 

Outraged, Lyndsay snarled back “You can’t do that! There’s such a thing as freedom of the press in this country!”

 

Claudia leaned in, almost nose to nose with the angry woman, a grin of satisfaction gracing her face.

 

“Watch us.”

 

Asher’s voice purred behind Claudia’s perfunctory commands as he glided in to smooth things over. “Mademoiselle, surely someone as sensitive as yourself can sympathize with the agony being played out before us. These are not strangers we are attempted to save; they are loved ones. And the werewolves have dared much by making their presence known so obviously in public. Can you not honor them, and our anguish, but granting us the privacy we so humanly deserve?”

 

Lyndsay stared into Asher’s pale blue eyes, and was instantly lost in their depths. Lost and drowning in his sorrow and apprehension for his friends. Her heart melted, and her soul cried out at his grief. Of course she would extend to him and his people that simple consideration….

 

Her decision made, she covered the lens of a startled Matt’s camera. “Don’t be an oaf; turn that camera off. Hector! Get us off the air.”

 

Asher leaned in and planted a chaste kiss on her flushed cheek. “Merci, Mademoiselle. Your kindness warms my poor cold heart.” He ran his fingertips suggestively across her throat. “Au revoir, my lady.”

 

Lyndsay looked at their retreating backs as they made their way over to Hugh.

 

Slack jawed, her cameraman exclaimed, “Jesus, boss, what the hell was that all about? What happened to our bonuses?”

 

She wished she knew. It was completely against her avarice nature to allow money to just slip between her fingers like that, and the hell of it was she couldn’t give a damn. She’d do it all again just for a chance to see that vampire’s eyes.

 

************************************************************************

 

Jean-Claude was right; they all had their jobs to do, and his was to deal with the city’s official employees. As soon as the engines and screamed to a halt, the firefighters had poured off the vehicles, geared up and ready to make a difference. Do your job, he told himself. Technically, he was the public official in charge at the scene, but for all intents and purposes he knew he was outranked by a couple of vampires, a werewolf, maybe a wererat, and the Executioner. But out of all of them, he was the one the grizzled fireman marching his way was going to be willing to talk to.

 

The man was all business. “OK, kiddies, get the hoses out!” he hollered back at his men before turning his attention to Zerbrowski. “Who’s in charge here? You?”

 

Zerbrowski held out his hand. “That would be me. Lieutenant Zerbrowski, RPIT. You can call me Zee. You want a Retcon? In a nutshell, there has been an explosion, we have an uncontrolled fire with people trapped inside, and no, I can’t one hundred percent guarantee that nothing else is going to go ‘boom’. Anything else you need to know?”

 

Intense blue eyes locked onto Zerbrowski’s for a few tense seconds before the man smiled. He was too old for bullshit, and appreciated the cop’s style. “I like you,” he said slowly. “ You got a good Polish name, and you don’t fuck around. So I won’t either. Name’s Halligan. I’m guessing all the rescue equipment that ought to be here is wasting their time in the Tenderloin?’

 

Zerbrowski shrugged; it was the truth, but something about the man’s tone bothered him “Yeah, they are, but why do you say it like that?”

 

His answer was a snort of derision and a blunt, “Because anyone with an IQ over forty shoulda known that warehouse was empty. Has been for years; hell, it was condemned for demolition next month. Why bother?”

 

That was Zerbrowski’s thought, too, but he decided to push the man on his estimation. “Rumored to have people inside, though. Homeless squatters.”

 

The Chief turned and spat eloquently on the ground. “Yeah, well, and I’m the second coming. Police have been sweeping that area regularly because of the demo, and everyone in the Tenderloin knew it. No one wanted to get rousted, so no one flopped there anymore. I know, because my brother-in-law is a beat cop for the flesh district, and he’s been giving me a running commentary on how fucking stupid the whole fiasco is over there tonight. So is anything else is coming for rescue?

 

The firefighters who had been poring past the two veterans, dragging hoses and other paraphernalia, stopped as soon as they’d reached open ground. Halligan turned on them, furious that they hadn’t started to douse the smoldering ruins.

 

“What the hell are you guys waiting for? An invitation from the Pope? Take the thumbs out of your asses and MOVE!” he barked in their direction.

 

One of the braver ones cleared his throat hesitantly and managed, “Uh, Chief? You gotta see this first.”

 

“See what?” he snarled as he made his way over. “What the hell has you candy asses pissing your…” Halligan stopped, his jaw agape in amazement. He finally reined his wits in enough to gasp, “Holy crap, that is one SHITLOAD of werewolves!”

 

Zerbrowski barely managed to curtail his amusement. The Chief would be less than inclined to being laughed at, he thought sagely.

 

He was right. The man was flustered, and unhappy to be in that state. “What the hell is the deal here, Zerbrowski?”

 

“You wanted to know what else was coming for rescue? There’s what else. Patrick!”

 

Almost relieved, a lone wolf disengaged himself from the pack and loped over. In wolf form, Patrick was a rangy grey, close to seven foot, with hazel brown eyes.

 

Introductions were in order. “Chief, this is Patrick. He’s in charge of the rescue, and you listen to him. You and your men make sure nothings burning, and he’s directing the pack on how to dig out any survivors.”

 

Patrick held out his hand, mindful to keep his claws tucked in. To his credit, Halligan never flinched. He carefully closed one gloved hand around Patrick’s, and pumped it in a cordial handshake. Firefighters were a tough bunch.

 

And not one to take a person on face value alone. “What are your qualifications, son? I want to know what were dealing with, and who we’re rescuing.”

 

Patrick rose to the occasion. He’d faced down worst in his time. “I own my own construction company, and I did firefighter work in the service and as a volunteer in Wisconsin. I know what I’m doing. And it’s a mix inside; human, vampire, and lycanthrope.”

 

Halligan regarded the wolf speculatively, absently chewing the end of his soggy cigar as he made up his mind. The fact that the man was a lycanthrope really had no bearing on him; as long as was qualified, he could be purple with polka dots for all he cared. Being a Were wouldn’t get his men killed; he knew from experience shifters would never let uncontrolled brethren out in public. Ignorance, however, could. He made up his made; Patrick was sincere. He felt he could trust him.

 

“Ok, then, lets move. Sunrise is in about six hours, and we sure as shit better be done by then or we’ll be rescuing ashes.” He laughed suddenly.

 

Both Zerbrowski and Patrick were taken aback by the amusement. “Want to let us in on the joke?” Zebrowski demanded.

 

Halligan shrugged. “Some of the boys were bitching that they were missing the action in the Tenderloin. Well, I think they lucked out on the tall tale, bragging fire here. Master of the City, fangs, furries, and from what I can see a whole bunch of good looking women. Be the last time they bitch about luck!”

 

He snaked an arm around the wolf. What the hell; it was going to be the mother of all nights. “So what’s the plan?”

 

Patrick stiffened in surprise at then embrace, his head and tail automatically lowering in a submissive response to a dominant’s gesture. He knew it was inadvertent on Halligan’s part, and mentally he shook off the instinct and concentrated on answering the man’s question. “The plan’s simple. One engine takes on the fire that’s burning out of control in the kitchen section of the building. It’s propane based, but the emergency shut off valves should have engaged when the fire alarms started wailing. Note I said should of; lets not take anything for granted. The second engine company covers the diggers on this side of the building, centered on the stage area. You douse, we excavate, and I make sure the whole thing doesn’t collapse on us while we’re doing it. And Chief, make sure you tell your men to stay back. They don’t know what their dealing with when it comes to wounded preternaturals.”

 

Halligan scoffed. He’d seen a lot in his twenty years of service, and nothing surprised him. “We’ve had training, and I’ve never run across a situation I couldn’t handle. My men are good.”

 

Patrick yawned and licked his nose. Damn it all, Alpha arrogance was going to be the death of him. “No insult intended, Chief, but I know the training you got, and it’s sketchy at best with the facts about shifters and vamps. Trust me, just keep your men back from the wounded. Vampires especially; they're going to want blood.”

 

The mental image of a vampire latching fangs onto his throat was finally enough to give Halligan pause. “ Fine, it’s your ballgame there. But what about you guys? You telling me you’re immune from being a meal?”

 

Patrick breathed a sigh of relief as he finally won the discussion. “Don’t worry about us; we’ll hold our own.”


	22. Chapter Twenty-two

Asher glided along quietly next to Claudia. Hugh James had been slightly more difficult to persuade than the lovely Ms. Davenport, but they had cajoled him with a promise of an interview after the crisis was over. The implication being that it would be conducted with someone of importance; foolishly, James had not clarified that technicality, and Asher had been able to cloud his mind sufficiently that the idea to do so had never crystallized in James’ thoughts. He smiled maliciously to himself. Perhaps Willie McCoy would enjoy being interviewed. The Laughing Corpse would be the perfect metaphoric location.

 

He had to increase his pace to maintain contact with the fast striding, tightly coiled Security Head. Asher could feel the tautness in the wererat; Claudia was silent, stalking next to him in full bodyguard mode, radiating a spine tingling aura of furious power that felt strong enough to burn if he ventured too close. The confrontations with the media had helped her vent some of her frustrations, but she was still looking less then satisfied with her current usefulness. It was the pack’s rescue; the pack’s and the vampires. He could tell it rankled her alpha sensibilities to be subordinated to a support role, but she was being professional about the turn of events. Were it a wererat trapped inside, Raphael and the Rodere would have done the same as Thronnos Rokke.

 

Bon. Asher thought. Mon grand rat is distracted and in need of a purpose. Perhaps now would be an opportune time to approach her about Jean-Claude’s orders. Even if the crisis had yet to be resolved, his duties and hers were necessary elsewhere. He needed her concentration bent towards the aftermath; finding the miscreants who had dared make an attempt on the life of the Master of the City and his Triumvirate. The hunt appealed to him, as he knew it would Claudia. The hunt, and sweet retribution.

 

But first, he needed to satisfy himself of her and the Rodere’s loyalty.

 

Offhandedly, almost as though he were conversing with himself, he mused, “Raphael seemed to send little of the Rodere in response to your call.”

 

Claudia abruptly threw on the brakes, and regarded the scarred vampire coolly. Asher’s mildly curious tone wasn’t fooling her, and damned if she would let even an unintended slight to her king go by unanswered. “Most of the rats who were in Security or had prior military training are already here, Asher. Just how many of us do you think he should have sent?”

 

Asher maintained his visage of bored disdain. “He also declined the invitation to the opening,” he opined smoothly, his blue eyes locked on Claudia’s. He was a Master Vampire; alpha or not, he would sense deceit if she spoke untrue.

 

Claudia’s eyes blackened as she leaned her torso forward aggressively. “And he gave his reasons for that, reasons that Jean-Claude understood and did not take exception to. If they were good enough for your Master, they should be good enough for you, Asher.” She closed her eyes, and took several deep cleansing breathes. Asher could almost see her mentally count to ten and force her beast back in the closet. When she had reined her ire in, she answered reasonably, “Look, I realize that the vampires are dealing with a crisis here, so I’ll excuse your thinly veiled slight to my King, but you have to understand that the rest of the preternatural leaders are not blind to the fact that this was an obvious attempt against our community. Narcissus has his werehyenas locked down at the club. Rafael is currently under his Lieutenants' protection, whether he likes it or not, in case there’s an attempt against the rodere. But for all that, he honored his allegiance to Jean-Claude by sending Lillian, one of our most prized members, and by not pulling the rest of us out.”

 

Asher bowed to her, and held up a placating hand. “My sincerest apologies, mademoiselle. I will make amends to your King as well, in person, if you feel it necessary. Jean-Claude has instructed me to find those who did this; find them, and bring them to him alive. And I am to enlist your assistance as well. I was merely testing the waters, so to speak, of your loyalties. There had to be an insider involved, and it is not impossible that they could be a Wererat.”

 

Claudia sighed, and gave him a crooked, less than happy smile. “I know. I already told Zerbrowski there had to be inside help, and I warned Rafael as well. Which is another reason everyone’s so damn skittish. But I will help you, and if it turns out to be one of my people, rest assured they will be punished.” Her eyes grew hard. “And if it’s a vampire? Or a wolf?” she demanding. “Are your own people and Richard’s under the same scrutiny and third degree you just gave mine?”

 

Asher turned and continued walking back to Jean-Claude. “What they are is not important. They will be dealt with, by us, away from the prying eyes of the soft hearted human authorities. And they will die screaming their regrets that they had even been born.”

 

************************************************************************

 

Renewed, Jason launched himself at the wall that had stymied all of his earlier efforts. The pack was out there, and they were coming to get him. He felt revitalized, full of hope, and damned if he could just sit still and wait passively for them; he’d twitch right out of his fur if he tried. So if he couldn’t sit, and he couldn’t run, then he was just going to have to try to go to them as well. He pushed, straining, against the unrelenting debris, before gasping and falling to all fours. He could feel his heart thundering in his chest, a galloping rhythm that would have sent cardiac alarms off and was only serving to exacerbate his adrenaline level and his need for fight or flight. Jason knew he had to channel this energy somewhere, and as soon as he caught his breath, he was straining once more to do the impossible.

 

Push. Pant. Drop. Over and over, until his chest was heaving and a blood tinged froth coated the corners of his mouth.

 

Katie watched, worry lines creasing her face as she sat back and counted the number of times her furry irresistible force futilely launched himself at the wooden immoveable object. She watched passively for as long as she could stand it, but when she saw the blood she knew it was time to intervene. Rescue was coming, and the boy was going to kill himself before it had a chance to arrive. “Jason. Jason! Stop it! You couldn’t move it before; what make you think you can move it now? Just sit still! If help is coming as you say, they all we can do is bide our time and wait for it.”

 

“Can’t, Katie!” he panted, his spring green eyes vibrant with excitement and energy. “The pack’s calling; I have to help somehow!”

 

“Well, rupturing something isn’t helping, idiot child,” she replied tartly. “What about Byron? How about putting your energy towards helping him?”

 

Jason crawled over and nosed the brown haired vampire’s slender neck. “We can’t. He needs Jean-Claude now. All we can do is help get him out of here when we’re rescued.” Twisting violently, he shook his fur like a dog wringing out water, as though he were trying to physically vibrate off his excess zeal. Byron forgotten, he went back to pace crawling, building himself up yet again for another assault on the entrapping box.

 

This was absurd. He was easier to handle when he was despondent, rather than giddy with a purpose. She needed to distract him before he ended up hurting himself. But what? The howls had turned him even wolfier, enervated. Wracking her brain, she tried to come up with something to settle him down. Suddenly, she had an epiphany.

 

Sorry Zee. It’s for a good cause.

 

She whistled, a ‘c’mere boy’ sound that was sure to tick him off and get his attention. “Hey Jason. Haven’t you ever wondered what Z’s first name is?”

 

It worked like a charm. At the sound of the whistle, he’d stopped and turned to her with the aggravated look she had learned meant he was going to give her another ‘I’m not a freaking DOG’ lecture. But his reaction when her question sunk in had her covering her mouth with her hand to hide her smile. Jason had paused, ears pricked and brow furrow, and tilted his head curiously at her. God help her, she was flashing on that old fashioned RCA trademark. His master’s voice. There was something endearing about that.

 

“Z-man actually has a first name? Guess I never really thought about it. How bad can it be that he never uses it?”

 

He’d taken the bait. Now to sink the hook good and deep. “Oh, it’s bad. Bad enough that the last time I remember it being uttered was our marriage vows. Tell you what; c’mon over here and sit down next to me. We’ll play a little game to pass the time. I’ll let you have three questions, and then you have to start guessing his name. If you get it right, I’ll tell you, and then you’ll have the ultimate card to hold over Zee’s head and torment him with.”

 

Jason paused, a wolfishly evil grin contorting his features. “He’ll flip out if I know, won’t he?”

 

She grinned back. “Yep.”

 

He padded over next to her, his focus now on solving the mystery of Zerbrowski’s first name.

 

“You’re on!”

 

**********************************************************************

 

Decisive action is like good sex, Jamil thought to himself as he trailed behind the aura of surety that was his Ulfric. Satisfying, pleasurable , and if your partner looks as replete as you feel, an accomplishment.

 

Thronnos Rokke ranged out behind him. Like the wolves they called brethren, the pack trailed behind their Alpha by status. Sylvie had by rank taken her proper place at Richard’s right hand, and Jamil himself had instinctively positioned himself to Richard’s left, a slight step behind his Freki. It was a hunt mood, and his beast soared at the power and confidence it felt from his Master. A strong leader took care of the pack, even to its Omega member. A strong leader gave his followers strength. Made them feel as invincible as they knew their Ulfric to be. He’d never felt such a sense of supremacy and well being before, in any of his packs, and his wolf basked in the warmth and glory of it.

 

But his beast was not entirely happy. A lesser wolf strode with them, and the animal inside him wanted to turn and ravage the interloper for his temerity. Whoa, have to ease back there, he told himself. Patrick was told to be there, he reasoned, was needed there, and looked like he would bolt at the slightest provocation. Not a challenge, he soothed his inner wolf. See, he’s being properly submissive. Internally, he growled with satisfaction at the subordinate wolf’s subservient body signals.

 

His ears slanted back as he heard Zerbrowski’s voice call out. “Patrick!” Zerbrowski yelled from beside a stranger, beckoning Patrick over with his hand. The other had to be one of the firemen that had finally responded to the alarms. He watched Patrick turn to his Ulfric for instructions. Richard never broke stride, simply commanded “Go”, and continued on his quest to rescue Jason.

 

Jamil was surprised, considering the level of anxiety Patrick had been exuding, he tried one last time to inject caution into the proceedings. “Ulfric, please. The firefighters are here. Just wait for them to….” He never bothered to finish the sentence, the words dying in his throat at the steely look that Sylvie’s grey eyes shot back at him for daring to argue with Richard. She gave a dismissive motion of her head, an angry jerk that brooked no argument, then lengthened her stride to catch back up to her Alpha’s side.

 

It was an eloquent, non-verbal do the fuck what your Ulfric said NOW gesture, and Jamil was unsurprised when Patrick, looking slightly relieved, quickly turned and jogged back to where the Lieutenant was standing. Jamil was torn; half of him, his shifter side, was happy the inferior wolf was gone. His intellect, though, told him that they might have just made a very bad mistake. He sprinted slightly ahead of the pack, and turned to face Sylvie and Richard.

 

He held a placating hand, but did not grovel. He was Skoll, and he had a right to voice his opinion. “He might be right, Ulfric. It may be ill-advised of us to barrel ahead like this without the proper equipment. And before you have puppies, Sylvie, I’m not trying to challenge his authority or decision. I’m just asking if it’s really prudent to go in full throttle like this.”

 

Richard strode past him, undaunted. He answered reasonably, “I can’t see the harm in just starting to clear some of the larger pieces. I’m not going to let anyone try to do too much or go in too far. But there isn’t a lot of time, and any we can save on the preliminaries gets us one step closer to getting everyone out. And they,” he said, indicating the following wolves, “need a job to do, something to focus on the fact that they are making a difference here, and not that they just radically altered their future on film.”

 

Jamil reclaimed his position. It still felt injudicious of them, but he couldn’t argue the man’s logic. And it was a moot point; they’d reached the doorway to the building, and nothing short of a second explosion was going to dissuade anyone from not going in. He dropped his head. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”

 

Richard sniffed around the area, scenting for danger. “At this point, let’s just get back inside and see what the damage is were dealing with.” He rested his clawed hands against the iron clad, twin mahogany doors that lead into the main amphitheatre. “Looks deceptive, doesn’t it?” he remarked softly. “If you only looked at these doors you’d think nothing in the world had gone on. Well, let's see what carnage we have to contend with. I can’t feel any heat, and the smoke smell is so prevalent around the entire area it’s hard to pinpoint a concentration. But it feels fine.” His hands closed on the door handles, but before he could pull them open Sylvie grasped his wrists and stilled the motion. “Not you, Richard. This isn’t an Ulfric’s job. Step back and let me.”

 

Amber eyes stared down on his second. He should have expected her to insist on going in herself. Outside of being Lupa, it was unusual for a woman to hold a high position of rank in a pack. Sylvie had done it through power, and ruthlessness, and just being out and out ballsier then the men she had defeated in her climb through the ranks. “That’s not necessary, Sylvie. I don’t feel any danger, and I’m not about to let you do my job for me.”

 

Sylvie wasn’t about to be that easily dissuaded. “Don’t start the sexist thing with me, Mr. Macho. I’m perfectly capable of opening my own doors, or heaven forbid, opening up one for the male species. And if it’s not dangerous, it shouldn’t matter, should it?”

 

Richard stepped back, defeated. His Freki was right; it was her duty to precede him, to scout the area before he strode in. “Go ahead then.”

 

Minimal danger or not, the mood instantly became tense. Jamil imposed his body between Richard’s and the doorway, his bodyguard’s sense of overprotection advising caution. Sylvie waited until he was in position, then wound her fingers around the pulls, her shoulder and arm muscles bunching as she tested the give in door. They balked, then creaked an inanimate acquiescence to her tow.

 

She put her back into it, grumbling as she threw her weight into the pull to add to the strain. Teeth clenched, she lectured, “You know, it’s my fervent hope one day Richard that you will just let things progress as they’re supposed to without all the knee jerk arguments you feel the need to inflict on everyone.” As soon as she finished, there was an audible pop, like a gunshot, as the doors gave way and cracked open.

 

Sylvie stumbled backwards, almost falling to her ass before she managed to pinwheel her arms and right herself. There as a frightening sound coming from the newly opened entranceway. It was as though the theatre itself took a breath, as air whooshed into the now open space. There was an audible pause, before a wash of heat blasted out of the darkness. Jamil heard the roar first, and howled a warning, but Sylvie was already in motion, having seen the flames galloping towards the open air of the vestibule. She threw herself sideways, but was a shade too slow to save herself completely and the flames licked across her exposed back.

 

She screamed in pain, and tried to run, her lupine instincts telling her to flee away from whatever was causing her such agony. Heedless on the danger, both he and Richard tackled her, using their own bodies to put out the fire that was smoldering on her left shoulder and back. She whined briefly, then lay motionlessness under their weight.

 

Richard panicked, thinking the worse of her stillness. “Sylvie! Sylvie, can you understand me! Are you alright? Talk to me. Talk to me. Can you stand?” He could hear footsteps pounding in their direction, and peripherally could hear the sounds of hoses and gruff commands, but they were inconsequential to him at the moment. He needed to hear his Freki’s voice.

 

He licked her singed fur worriedly, grimacing at the taste of roast flesh, but was rewarded with a response. Sylvie whined in pain, then coughed and licked her nose.

 

“Hurts,” she whined, and high pitched sound that emanated from the back of her throat. “Stop that.”

 

Richard gave her a chagrined look. “Sorry; just instinct to try to clean the wound. Can you get up?”

 

He and Jamil rolled off of her, giving her space to try to rise up on her own. They had rolled far enough from the action to not be a hindrance to the engine crew, so there was no sense of urgency to get out of the way. The rest of the pack had scattered when the backdraft had erupted, and were now regrouping worriedly behind them.

 

Sylvie made it to her knees, breathless with the hurt the effort caused. Jamil moved in to help her, but she waved him off. The pack was gathered, and human or not, friend or not, she wasn’t about to show weakness in front of them. She pushed to her feet, her hyper-healing already helping to bolster her strength.

 

Richard respected her need to show herself still capable of her title, and stood off. But pride be damned; there was no denying that she needed medical assistance.

 

“Stephen!” he called, and a honey gold wolf ran forward from within the crowd.

 

“You wanted me, Richard?”

 

Stephen wasn’t ranked high, and unlikely to consider this unfortunate turn of events as a possible way to increase his status. “Give Sylvie a hand getting to the medical tent. They probably need help there, too, so you might as well stay and lend a hand as well. We’ll get Jason out.”

 

Stephen gently offered Sylvie his hand. With as much dignity as she could muster, she snaked her uninjured right arm around his proffered one, and allowed him to slowly lead her back the way they had come.

 

Richard watched them leave, Jamil at his side. His Skoll was wisely keeping his own counsel, not wanting to belabor the situation with an overly obvious, ‘I told you so’. Richard appreciated his discretion, for what it was worth. He could see Patrick and the firefighter he had been called over to consult with bearing down on the two of them, and knew he wasn’t likely to totally escape a scathing harangue. The human looked as pissed off as a person could get.

 

“Who was the fucking moron who decided to go in without us?” Halligan demanded, looking straight at Richard. He already new who was in charge; it didn’t take a genius or an “I’m the Boss” to figure that one out. He’d seen the werewolf Patrick look to that one for permission before he came over, whatever the hell that was all about. He just wanted the big furry fucker to acknowledge his mistake. To acknowledge that he, Chief Halligan was in charge of the firefighting and rescue directions, not a civilian like him.

 

Richard huffed out a sigh. “That would be me. And yes, I know I fucked up. And yes, I know you’re the expert here and I have to listen to your instructions. I’m not playing any Alpha games with you, Chief. I really thought we would do some good by getting started.”

 

Halligan pulled a new cigar from his pocket, and demonstrably bit off the end and spat it to the side. He held it in front of his mouth, and paused before chewing down on it. “You know the saying, don’t you? About the road to hell is paved with good intentions?” he asked as he bit down on his stogie.

 

Richard bristled at the obvious cues he was getting. “Don’t spout platitudes to me, please. I’ve had a lousy night. Hell, we’ve all had a lousy night. So just tell us what you want, and we’ll do it. I have pack inside, and I’m sure Jean-Claude is as anxious about his vampires.”

 

_Good. Big Dog can listen_ , Halligan thought, and immediately backed down on the posturing and held out a conciliatory hand. “Glad we have an understanding, and even happier that we got there without much of a fight. Names Halligan. Your boy Patrick has me up to snuff, so once the fires contained we’ll get started.”


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

_‘I will not smack her, I will not smack her, I will not smack her_ …’ Patricia thought savagely to herself, vainly trying to tune out the strident voice of the harpy she was tending to. ‘ _But Lordy, it would feel wonderful if I did_.’

 

“There, all done,” she managed sweetly as she quickly taped the end of the Ace bandage, giving the roll a nasty jerk to cut it as she smoothed it into place. ‘ _Pity I can’t tape your mouth as well’_ , snarled unbidden in her mind. _Yes_ , the poor thing had gone though a trauma, and _yes_ , she was hurt, but the prissy prima Donna had whimpered and bellyached the entire time she worked on her, as though _she_ was the only one suffering in the whole universe. She looked the young blond woman sternly in the eye. “I’ve got your shoulder immobilized, but you’re going to have to go to the hospital to get the dislocation reset. I can give you something to take the edge off the pain, if you need, but it would be better if you could make do without until the procedure is done.”

 

_Here it comes._

 

“OF COURSE I WANT SOMETHING NOW!” the witch wailed querulously. “What kind of hack paramedic are you that you would be so cruel as to not give me something to stop my misery?”

 

Patricia sighed and nodded in false sympathy and understanding. Damn hot house Hollywood types had no backbone. “Hold on then. I’ll get something from my bag after I splint this man’s arm.” She let the criticism of her professionalism slide, but couldn’t help her malicious thoughts. _Stupid cow. I never did like any of your CDs. Or your vapid movies._

 

As if she didn’t have enough to do. The wounded were piling up, and she still needed stuff from the ambulance. There had to be some free pair of hands that could go back and unload more emergency gear for her. She scanned the area for a likely victim, and one of the lycanthropes caught her eye. A tri-colored leopard, all creamy yellow and pale gold with black rosettes, was lounging next to the only two shifter medical people there. _Cherry and Dr. Lillian_ , she remembered from the shouted introductions. That was all they had time for, before they all got elbow deep in the injured. The male cat seemed to be in need of a job, and she was just the paramedic to give him one.

 

She yelled out to get his attention. “ _You_! Pretty kitty! What’s your name?”

 

Tail lashing, the shifter turned his head in her direction, his thumb pointing towards his chest in an almost comical ‘who, me?’ gesture. 

 

She sighed patiently. Just her luck. A genius. “Yeah, you. What’s your name?”

 

“Gregory.” His voice was different, a deep purring growl, but exactly the sound that should come out of a feline’s mouth. She liked it.

 

“Well Gregory, get your butt over here. I need help, and you look otherwise unoccupied.”

 

Gregory looked at Cherry for support, and exasperated, she pushed him on his way. “Go on, Greg. You aren’t doing much good over here. Make yourself useful.”

 

_Finally, some help, and just in time it looks like_. Dougherty eyed the two shifted wolves who had made their way to the triage center. One was uninjured, his arm supporting an obviously female wolf who appeared to be badly burned up the left arm and back. Elbow deep in setting a temporary splint, she yelled out to a paramedic from the second vehicle.

 

“Logan! Help them! I’ll be over in a minute after I finish this splint!”

 

Logan glanced up from administering a shot of painkiller to one of the guests. His eyes slid to the two lycanthropes, and his features settled into a look of complete disgust. “Forget it, Patty. I’m busy. They can wait for you if they're so inclined.”

 

Patricia carefully laid down the newly splinted arm. “Try not to jostle or move that, or it’s going to hurt like hell. I’ll have Cherry come over and give you something to take the edge off.” With a final consoling pat, she stood and advanced on her coworker.

 

Her vision was taking on that unique red haze that meant her Irish was up and someone was going to lose skin. “What the _hell_ is that all about, asshole? That woman’s hurt, and you are going to see to her wounds.”

 

Logan hissed back, “What _woman_ , Doughery? All I see you pointing at is a shifter.”

 

She couldn’t believe her ears. They may not be doctors, but they took the same kind of oath. “Listen, you racist son of a bitch, there are a whole bunch of people here who would really take insult to you talking like that. Now grab your kit and get…”

 

Logan interrupted angrily. “Look, you want to vet the furries, you go right ahead Dougherty. I’m not risking being infected.”

 

That was it. She had enough of his bigotry, especially if it endangered wounded. The ominous _snick_ of a collapsible truncheon sounded loud even in the chaos. She was furious, her eyes burning, as she snarled, “It’s your fucking _job_ , Logan. You don’t get to pick and choose who you treat. Now get your ass in gear and start helping people!”

 

Logan turned his back on her and walked away, shouting out over his shoulder, “It ain’t the people I object to helping, sunshine. And I’ll do my job there. You want to do the shifters, by all means go ahead. And if you assault me with that thing, you’d better have one hell of a good lawyer behind you. Cause you’re gonna need one.”

 

She actually took a step after him, when Gregory’s voice chuffed behind her and pulled her to a stop. “Guess it’s a lucky thing Lillian and Cherry are here. We’ll take care of our own. So why don’t you just stick to your own too?”

 

Furious, she rounded on the wereleopard. “You know, I’ve taken about as much shit as I’m going to tonight, and so help me God if you say one more moronic thing I’ll smack you good with this. Color me stupid, but I’m proud of my job and my abilities, and I’ll help anyone who needs it. So are you just going to stand there looking all furry and pretty, or are you going to help too? You’re strong enough to carry people and equipment.”

 

He curled a lip back, and in an ominously low voice purred, “Aren’t you afraid with all the blood I smell I’ll eat someone?”

 

Quick as lightening, she whipped back her arm and gave him a sharp tap on the ass with the baton. He yelped and jumped backwards, more from surprise than pain.

 

She hoped kitty learned his lesson, because she was pretty sure if she tried that again she’d draw back a stump. “I warned you,” she said firmly. “Now go into the ambulance and bring me out the defibrillator; it’s the black box on the right with the paddles. We may need that.”

 

She watched his retreating back long enough to make sure he was doing what she asked, then got back to work. The two wolves had made their way over to Lillian, and she was squirting the burns with a saline solution to clear away the charred pieces. Patricia jogged over to see how she could help.

 

Dr. Lillian held up a cautionary finger. “Careful, Patricia. Put a second pair of gloves on, and a face guard. We’re going to have to cut away the burned flesh so it can heal properly, and I don’t want any splashed blood to infect you. Stephen, give us some room. You can’t help Sylvie hovering. Go give Greg a hand or something.”

 

Stephen nodded unhappily, then loped his way over to the ambulance. He wanted to be there for Sylvie, but other than hold her hand they wasn’t a lot for him to do. In addition, he and Greg had noticed the child vampires. Intellectually, he knew they wouldn’t hurt him; that they felt they owed them both a debt of honor. But emotionally, his insides still turned to liquid when he saw them. The farther away he stayed from them the better. 

 

His brother was slamming things inside the ambulance, and his nose and ears told him his twin was in a foul mood. “You need a hand, Greg?” he called out as he reached the back of the vehicle.

 

Gregory stared down at him, his lips curled back in annoyance. “Nah, I’m good. The dominatrix paramedic from hell just wanted some more equipment.”

 

Stephen chuckled, then quieted abruptly. Something about his brother’s tone was odd, something different that he couldn’t _quite_ put his finger on. Like he was distracted, or confused about something. He scented the air around the wereleopard; damn if he didn’t smell …and laughed aloud when the answer burst into his head. “Yeah, I saw her little love tap. You smell horny. Hell, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you sound like you’re in _love_ ,” he teased, moving to the side to let Gregory jump down from the ambulance with the equipment. 

 

Chagrined, Greg hissed and cocked his kitty cat face at his twin, his whiskers quivering in surprise. “What makes you say that? I never said that.”

 

“I can’t believe I’m right about this!” Stephen’s tail wagged happily as he put his hands on his hips and shook his head. “Don’t even try to argue your way out of this one! You even _look_ like your in love! What the hell did she do to you, other than smack you in the ass?”

 

Gregory stared speculatively over at the spitfire in question. “Yeah, well maybe. She’s got balls, I’ll give her that. Hell, I even like that she’s a little on the Dom side; packs a mean stick. Doesn’t mean anything’s going to come of it.”

 

Just like his brother to downplay it. God forbid he do something normal like fall in love. “The hell it doesn’t! It’s about time you found someone of your own.”

 

Flustered, Gregory shoved the defibrillator at him, and leaned back into the ambulance as though he were searching for more equipment. “I just met her, Stephen. And let’s face it, I’m not exactly giving her my best look right now.” 

 

“Didn’t look to me like she cared. Nathaniel said she was comfortable around shifters,” he argued back. “My brother has a girlfriend. Wait till I tell Vivian!” 

 

************************************************************************

 

Patrick stood to one side, peering up at the beams of the ceiling, trying to find stress points or weak spots that would require extra buttressing before they could continue. He couldn’t believe how sturdy they still were. Jean-Claude certainly hadn’t stinted on the construction material when he redid the building. Hell, it looked like he went way beyond required specs with the materials. It was a good thing, too, since nothing else appeared to be in danger of collapsing. Satisfied, he watched the assembly line of shifters as they moved the debris and wreckage back out of the way. They were close to the side of the stage now, according to everyone’s memory of the layout and the schematics he had seen. The stage should be directly ahead, the orchestra slightly to the left, and the Master’s box even further to the left and center. _That_ was going to be the tough rescue; the cross beams that had supported the suspended box had cracked and collapsed with the explosions, bringing most of the ceiling in that area down overtop it. Odd that only that section failed; odd, and unfortunate. That was going to be a _lot_ of weight to try to move by hand, lycanthropes or not.

 

But that was a problem for the not too distant future. Right now, they should be coming upon the bodies of the performers, living or dead. 

 

Jamil must have scented something, because he and the other wolves began to work faster, with a renewed purpose. Afraid of a Sylvie repeat, he cautioned, “Careful now; we’ve nearly reached the stage area. Don’t get rambunctious just because we’re close to our goal. Jamil, can you feel any heat?”

 

The black wolf stilled, his hands fanning over the wreckage. He licked his nose to increase it’s sensitivity, and scented carefully. “Feels cool, and I can’t smell anything. I think we’re good to go, but that’s what we thought at the doorway too. Tell the water guys to be alert.”

 

A rueful voice, muffled by a helmet and faceplate, answered, “The water guys are right here, and prefer to be called firefighters or firemen. And we’ve got your backs.”

 

Patrick clasped Jamil on the shoulder. “I’m sending someone back to tell Jean-Claude we’ll need vampire help. When they arrive, we can go in. In the meantime, let’s head towards where Jason’s trapped.”

 

Jamil grimaced at the amount of rubble surrounding and pinning his trapped packmate. It wasn’t going to be an easy task getting Jason, and Katie and Byron, if they all still lived, out of there. “I hate to be a doubting Thomas, but I don’t see how we’re going to move those collapsed support columns without a crane.”

 

Patrick walked the perimeter of the wreckage as far as he could, then came back and crouched down next to his Skoll. “No, but maybe we won’t have to. See that black area over there? It looks like we might be able to _tunnel_ our way in. Doesn’t have to be a big area, does it? Jason’s not a big guy; 5’3”, 5’4” maybe? How about Byron? And Katie?”

 

Jamil’s golden yellow eyes turned thoughtful as he concentrated. “Let me think. Katie’s a petite thing, smaller than Jason. Byron was turned young, he’s about as big as a fifteen or sixteen year old. Not big, I don’t think. We can ask Richard when he gets back, or Jean-Claude.”

 

A silky voice commanded behind them, “What is it you wish to ask, mon loups?”

 

Patrick nearly startled out of his skin. Neither of them expected the Master of the City to come in and assist, especially not with the fire danger still present. Richard stood behind him, looking annoyed. He knew he should say something, but all he could manage with both their attentions on him was a slack jawed expression and an inoffensive, ears low, hunch to his shoulders.

 

Perplexed, Jean-Claude waved a hand in front of his face. “Are you well, Patrick? Did you not hear me? What was it you wished to ask?”

 

Jamil saved him from dominant hell. “Byron; how tall is he? We don’t think we can dig them out completely, but Patrick feels we can tunnel them out, especially since we don’t believe any of them to be that large.”

 

Jean-Claude surveyed the wreckage and shook his head in understanding. “Byron is small, no larger than Jason. It should not be an issue that way.” He fixed his midnight blue eyes on the young wolf. Too much was riding on the man’s expertise and advice, and he was beginning to become disheartened at the wolf’s inability to exert himself. Time to push. “It is not the trapped ones size that is an issue, Mon Ami. If you are so concerned about their size coming out, who do you intend to use to dig going in?”

 

Patrick finally found his voice in his pride. He wasn’t stupid, and had thought of that contingency. “Micah, and the two smaller vampires I saw with you are about right to be able to dig and still have room to move stuff back out of the way. Maybe Nathaniel as well, and anyone else we can see who’s the right size.”

 

Jean-Claude smiled. The boy was finding his stride, and was clever. “I believe you speak of Valentina and Bartholome. I have summoned them, and asked Ma Petite to send Micah.”

 

Richard leaned in, and whispered in Jean-Claude’s ear, “And how did you manage to get her to stay away herself?”

 

Jean-Claude gave a cryptic smile. “By reminding her of a prophesy, even if I no longer believe it to be in play.”

 

Patrick watched the interplay, anxious to get things moving again, but a little unwilling to show impatience with the two of them. He coughed apologetically, and ventured, “In addition, we’ve reached the Orchestra and Stage area. If any of your vampires are alive, and we get them out, I just wanted someone around strong enough to control them if they were conscious when we free them. I’m sorry for my stupor earlier, Sir. I wasn’t expected that Master Vampire to be you”, he explained apologetically.

 

Jean-Claude waved a desultory hand. It was his duty. “Who else is powerful enough to command obedience and control? I would not put any others of my Kiss in jeopardy.”

 

One of the firefighters made his way over. “We doused it again, just to be sure, but I think Jamil was right. It’s safe to proceed.”

 

Patrick turned back to the assembled diggers. “Ok, we’re running out of nighttime. With your permission, Richard, I’d like to do a two pronged attack; Jamil knows what needs to be done here, and can lead the diggers for the stage area. I can take the tunnel digging to Jason. That’s going to be trickier, and needs my attention.”

 

“It’s your ball, Patrick. Run with it. You have my permission to do whatever you feel is necessary.” 

 

************************************************************************

 

“I see an arm!” Jamil shouted, as he motioned another wolf over to help him lift a particularly large section of the stage. “He’s a big one, too. It might take two of us to yank him out.”

 

The fact that they had found _someone_ intact injected renewed vigor in the rescuers. It was depressing to dig, trying to save people, and not find anyone alive. They had come across the Orchestra players first, or rather, the piles of dust that had been the Orchestra players. It appeared as though the incendiary devices used to explode and ignite the area had been concentrated under the lip of the stage, and the poor bastards in the pit had borne the brunt of the explosion. Vampires burn real good when ignited; they hadn’t stood much of a chance. Their gruesome discovery had deflated the wolves, and Richard had ordered a rotation of workers to inject a less jaded enthusiasm into the dig. As he reminded them, they all had heard Jason’s call and knew he was definitely alive, as were some of the trapped troupe that Jean-Claude could feel. 

 

In quick order a second arm, then the head and torso, were uncovered. It was Primo. He lay limp under their hands, but if he was intact, he was alive. Jean-Claude motioned the human firemen farther back, and positioned himself closer to Jamil, Richard hovering at his back. “Be wary, Mon Amis. Primo is a powerful vampire, and if awakens he will be beyond dangerous.”

 

“We got you,” Jamil acknowledged as he prepared to drag Primo free. Seeing him strain, Teddy moved up to grab hold and help as well. Between them, they slowly managed to drag his huge frame to freedom. The vampire was in sad shape, blackened and bloody, and his left leg was twisted at an odd angle.

 

Panting great gulps of air, his tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth, Teddy joked, “That has got to be the biggest vampire I’ve ever seen. Damn, I’m used to seeing the stripper guys that hang out at Guilty Pleasures. Will he be OK?”

 

With that, Primo shuddered and rolled over, and opened his eyes. They were completely feral, with no hint of intelligence, and they swiveled in the direction of Teddy’s voice. Primo’s nostrils flared, and recognizing the mouth watering scent of lycanthrope blood, he snarled and in a blur of motion launched himself onto the hapless werewolf, sinking his fangs deep into Teddy’s throat. 

 

Everyone surged forward as Teddy’s initial wail devolved into a sickening gurgling. Richard knew from painful experience that they would do more damage trying to pull Primo off, and moved to intercept the well meaning rescuers. “Stay back! You can’t stop him; that’s why we have the Master of the City here!”

 

Jean-Claude had already reached Primo, and wrapped his arms around the former Gladiator’s waist. “You will stop,” he commanded, his face gone completely alabaster with his power, the eerie preternatural wind that always accompanied a display of vampiric strength billowing his hair around his face and creating of vortex of ash and refuse around the three combatants. 

 

Primo froze, and stopped drinking. There was no defiance in him; he had long ago acknowledged Jean-Claude as Master, and even had he wished to he was too weak and depleted to mount a challenge now. He whimpered deep in his throat, a pleading for his need, but relinquished his hold on the hapless werewolf. Teddy moaned, and rolled away into Richard’s waiting arms.

 

Richard cradled the three hundred pound man like a child. “Jean-Claude! I’m taking him to Dr. Lillian. Are you alright here?” he asked cautiously. The unspoken translation being, ‘can you control your vampire?’

 

_‘Can you not feel our combined power, Richard? Ma Petite? We three are one this night, even without the fourth mark. If needed, I will draw on you two to increase my power’_. He watched Richard’s amber eyes widen in understanding, and answered aloud, “Oui. Go. I will tend to Primo, and the others. But talk to Ma Petite; we will need blood to heal any we bring out. Blood, and power for those to weak to rouse themselves to feed.”

 

“So what are you asking here?” Richard asked guardedly. _‘What do you want from me, Jean-Claude? Power or blood?’_

 

_‘Both, Richard. I cannot help my people without both’_ “I’m asking you to look for volunteers to donate blood.”

 

Teddy moaned in his arms. “Volunteers or victims? This isn’t like the Red Cross. You want me to find people willing to let your vampires feed off of them. Or do you expect me to order them?”

 

“Oui. I will not allow any of my vampires to harm a willing donor, but blood will be needed. Whether volunteered or commanded.”

 

Richard nodded unhappily. “I’ll talk to Anita and do what I can,” he said, then left to find aid for his wounded wolf.

 

Jean-Claude could feel Primo heal himself, even though he had only managed a few mouthfuls before he had been forced to stop. It was a gift of his, this ability. A rare power that enabled him to heal practically any wound with a little preternatural blood. He poured his power into Primo, assisting him as well as he could in the process, and subtly increasing his control over the temperamental and difficult vampire.

 

He felt Asher’s presence at his back. _Bon_. He would see that Primo was kept under control, even if he had to temporarily contain him in a cross wrapped coffin. “Primo, I know your hunger. But control your ravenous cravings. Others are in more need; I commend you to Asher’s authority. Go with him, and obey him.” He watched long enough to assure himself that the dazed, but nearly healed, Primo would offer no resistance as he followed Asher outside. 

 

One of the firefighters had pulled his helmet off, and bent over as though he was going to be sick. He was pale and sweat soaked, his blonde hair sodden around his pasty face. Jean-Claude looked at the name stenciled on his overcoat. _Fitzgerald_. He went over to the man, but refrained from touching him. 

 

“Monsieur Fitzgerald, are you unwell? Do you need assistance?” his voice soothed as he attempted to calm and downplay the scene the man had just witnessed.

 

Fitzgerald swallowed convulsively, and stared at the bloodstained ground where Teddy had lain. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, he just ripped that guy's throat out. We’re trying to save him, and he ups and just bites a piece out of that poor wolf. What the fuck was that all about? Why the hell are we even bothering if you’re going to try to kill us for our efforts?”

 

Jean-Claude refrained from taking the man’s mind. The humans who were helping deserved that courtesy. “That is why I moved you back; why Patrick warned your Chief Halligan to let the wolves handle the vampires,” Jean-Claude reasoned. “The wolf will heal; it was not a killing blow. You will see when we leave here that all is well with him.”

 

Fitzgerald looked out at the other wolves. “Look, I’ve dealt with a lot of freaky shit tonight, not the least of which is you guys. But I respect you, hell, I’d probably toss a few back with some of you, based on what you’ve shown me tonight. And you're ok with this? Maybe having someone else jump out and chew on you?”

 

Jamil crouched down next to Fitzgerald, and answered for them. “Are we OK with it? No. Would you be blasé about it? But we knew that going in, and we accepted the possibility. They can’t help it, the trapped vampires. Their badly hurt, and the only thing that can help them is blood. It’s just instinct, not personal. And it doesn’t mean we won’t go in and help them. We’ll heal, so we take the point. You guys don’t, so we make sure we got you protected.”

 

Another of the firefighters moved forward, and starting talking to the shaken man. “At least these guys didn’t lie to us. Halligan told us if they said stay back or run, we were supposed to say how far and how fast, didn’t he? Come on, they controlled it. Let’s get back to our jobs. Just another story to impress the ladies with later, ain’t it?" he grinned as he fastened the strap under his chin.

 

Fitzgerald took a deep breath, and puffed out his cheeks as he blew it out forcefully. “No, we couldn’t get the simple arson fire in the tenderloin. _We_ have to get shifters and vampires and an act of terrorism.” He paused in thought as he finished that thought. “Hell, your right Ed. We get out of this in one piece, and we _will_ have one hell of a story, won’t we?”

 

The wolves had gone back to digging cautiously, Jean-Claude hovering close behind to render assistance should they have a repeat of Primo’s attack. Victorious shouts were coming regularly, as more and more of the troupe was uncovered. Evariste was the only other conscious one found, but he was quiescent, and bore his pain stoically. Like many of the others, he was badly burned, his skin charred and peeling, his costume fused to his battered body in spots.

 

Stretchers were brought up to take the survivors to safety. Jamil found himself paired with Fitzgerald as they carried the thespian out. Evariste’s eyes stared blankly ahead, an occasional moan the only indication that he was still awake and alive. 

 

Fitzgerald was keyed up, and the silence was killing him. And he was curious. “It’s a miracle these guys weren’t incinerated like the Orchestra. They just lucky, or is there something different about them?”

 

Jamil shrugged. He really didn’t know, but was curious about that himself.

 

A raspy voice croaked out an answer from the stretcher. “Sprinklers.”

 

Fitzgerald jumped so badly he almost dropped his end of the stretcher. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “That was kind of like having a corpse talk to you at a viewing or something.” He looked back down at the vampire. “I thought all the sprinklers failed.”

 

Evariste licked his dry lips. “Not all. The ones embedded in the floor of the stage did not. It was the only thing that saved us.” He closed his eyes sadly, and curled further into a hurt fetal position. “We could hear the others burn,” he whispered half to himself, his voice haunted. “Hear them scream. But we could not help ourselves, let alone help them.”

 

“Aw, shit,” Fitzgerald whispered, and picked up the pace, pushing the stretcher against Jamil’s legs. “Hurry up, I think he’s coding or something.”

 

Jamil’s face was a snarl of anger at the vampire's distress, but he knew hurrying at this juncture wasn’t going to make a difference. “Vampire’s don’t code; he may have gone comatose, but he hasn’t died.”

 

Nor had he completely gone under. Almost inaudible, a hoarse, smoke burned voice whispered, “Why? Tell me why someone would do such a thing?”

 

That gave both Jamil and Fitzgerald pause. Fitzgerald was at a loss; nothing in his middle class existence had ever prepared him for such a hate crime. Jamil, on the other hand, had unfortunate practical experience. “Hate, fear, ignorance. Take your pick. I’m a black man who’s also a werewolf. That gets me a whole lot of racist bullshit. If I was Jewish and gay as well, I probably would have to move out to a cabin in the middle of nowhere to keep my well dressed ass from getting shot. But it’s not right; it’s just the way some people are.”

 

Fitzgerald thought about that as they broke out of the ruins into the night. It wasn’t right, or fair, or just. He’d heard the Humans Against Vampire crap, but this wasn’t the way to go. This guy wasn’t hurting anyone, and for all he knew had never hurt anyone.

 

He laid the stretcher down next to the long line of others. Daylight was in only another three hours, max, and the prevailing argument he could hear going on was whether they should try to heal them here, or transport them to somewhere dark and safe and deal with it at next nightfall. The fear was the weaker ones, the non-masters, might not wake at the next sunset.

 

They needed to feed. He rubbed the back of his neck, then realized the werewolf Jamil was staring at him, a slightly perplexed look on his wolfish face, if he was reading the expression correctly.

 

“What?” he asked, a little aggressively.

 

Jamil wasn’t backing down. “Feeling guilty? Don’t. You didn’t do anything here to cause this.”

 

“Yeah, and that one,” Fitzgerald answered, pointing down at Evariste, “didn’t do anything to _deserve_ this either. And he seemed like a nice enough guy, for a blood sucker. Was even mourning the others. So I’m thinking.”

 

“Always a dangerous pastime, water guy,” Jamil said wisely. ”Thinking what?”

 

Fitzgerald looked up at him. “Does it hurt to let one of them feed off of you, if it’s done controlled like the vampire in there said?” 

 

***********************************************************************

 

Jason curled up beside Katie, his huge wolf head lying comfortably on his arm. 

 

“Ok, first question; is it one of those embarrassing guys' names that could be interchanged with a girls? Like Stacy, or Carol, or Tracy? Something like that? “

 

Katie chuckled. “Good guess, but no. Question two.”

 

Jason growled his disappointment. He’d felt sure it was something like that. “Fine. Ok, our boy has to be a child of the 60’s; were his parents hippies or something? Does he have one of those flower child names like Starchild, or Moonbeam, or Yin and Yang?”

 

That one was worth a full out belly laugh. “Jesus, Jason, you have an imagination! No, they weren’t; his parents were second generation conservative Americans. Hell, his grandparents were strait off the boat! Final question, and you’d better make it a good one.”

 

Jason grumbled to himself, and ticked off the facts on his claws. “No girly names, no weird names. That can only leave one thing – _ethnic ones_. Is that it? Is it an old country, popular in all the Slavic nations but unpronounceable or embarrassing here kind of a name?”

 

_Bingo_. Katie gave him a cryptic smile, and answered with a coy, “Maybe.”

 

Jason sat up excitedly and growl-yipped his triumph. “That’s it! Ha! Now all I have to do is guess it. Except,” he continued dejectedly, his ears lying back, “how many Polish names do I really know?”

 

“Didn’t say this was going to be easy,” Katie said primly. “Give up?”

 

Jason snorted. “Never. Stanislaus?”

 

She shook her head negatively.

 

“Adolph? I wanted to use that as a stage name, because it means ‘noble wolf’ but Jean-Claude just gave me that look and asked if they even taught World War II in schools.”

 

Katie rolled her eyes. “No, it’s not Adolph, and you're incorrigible. Try again.”

 

“Hell, I just figured enough decades had passed that the name wasn’t pariah anymore. There’s only one other name I can think of off the top of my head…” he stopped talking abruptly, and stilled as he cocked his head and strained his ears forward.

 

_‘Oh no you don’t’_ , Katie thought. _‘You’re not going ADHD again on me’_. She prodded him with her foot to get his attention back. “Well? Why did you stop?

 

“Shush. I can hear something. Digging; I hear digging. I think help is here!”


	24. Chapter Twenty-Four

Patricia’s stomach clenched as she watched Dr. Lillian methodically slice off yet another section of charred flesh from the wounded werewolf. Sylvie, she recalled. Lillian had called her Sylvie. It made it worse, somehow, knowing the woman’s name. More personal, and she was having a hard enough time maintaining an aura of professional disconnection as it was. The female shifter was in agony, writhing spasmodically under her and Cherry’s restraining hands, and she was amazed at the control the wolf was showing. She wasn’t sure how strong Cherry was, but she was fairly certain Sylvie could use her lycanthrope abilities to toss her into the next county if she so desired.

 

Salt and pepper head bent to the task, Lillian murmured soothing words as she peeled burnt fur and skin from Sylvie’s smoky grey back. The wound bled freely for a few seconds, then almost immediately clotted and began to scab over. Sylvie bore the agony stoically, but her legs belied her pain as they jerked convulsively under Patricia’s hands. She finally gave voice to her suffering, and she moaned pitifully, burying her head deeper into Cherry’s lap as she tried to escape the hurt.

 

That muffled sound was the straw that broke Patricia’s back, and she stopped fighting her tears, allowing them to stream unchecked down her face. This wasn’t healing to her; this was torture, and she couldn’t phantom how the older woman was dealing with her ministrations so calmly. “Damn it, Lillian, this is just medieval! Why can’t I at least try to give her a shot of morphine for the pain?”

 

“Because it won’t do any good,” Lillian lectured calmly. “Lycanthrope metabolisms burn too fast for pain killers to be effective. Her body would treat the shot as though it were a poison, and neutralize it. In order to be effective, the dose required would far exceed the amount of sedative you have available, and would only give a short term reprieve. And Sylvie’s an Alpha, and very powerful. It would be even less effective on her.”

 

Patricia blushed at the chiding tone of the older woman. “I know, I know, you’ve told me this already,” she lamented, ashamed at her accusatory outburst. She wasn’t accomplishing anything other than fogging up her faceplate with her tears. The shifter doctor wasn’t being needlessly cruel; there really wasn’t anything they could do.

 

Lillian paused in her work, and locked her eyes kindheartedly on Patricia’s. “Once the burned flesh is removed, she’ll heal fairly quickly and the pain will stop,’ she consoled. “It’s unfortunate, but burns are one of the only things we can’t heal on our own.”

 

Sylvie’s muffled voice sounded from Cherry’s lap. “Just do it, Lillian. Please. I want this over with. If the paramedic can’t deal, then send her away. But don’t stop.”

 

Lillian nodded, her eyes an unspoken challenge. Got the courage to deal?

 

“She’s right. I’m sorry, but if you’re going to work around us you have to learn to accept this as well.”

 

Patricia swallowed, and snaked a towel up under her mask to mop the tears and sickly sweat from her face. Cherry was looking at her sympathetically, but offered no criticism or advice. She simply stroked Sylvie’s head, a calming gesture meant to distract the woman from her pain. Lillian had bent back to her task, razor sharp scalpel filleting another section off of Sylvie’s back.

 

It wasn’t her they should be worrying about, and she felt ashamed that she had prolonged the werewolf’s pain with her outburst. If they can bear this, so can I.

 

Hands shaking, she once again pressed them against the Sylvie’s twitching furred calves.

 

************************************************************************

 

‘You're scaring the kids again,’ Anita groaned to herself as yet another wolf scurried hunchbacked out of her path. She was pacing. No, she admitted, that wasn’t exactly true. She was stalking, an unproductive, maniacal, embarrassing gait that had the RPIT crew and the assembled shifters watching her furtively, half afraid she would stop and try to involve herself with their work, the other half green with terror that she would simply lose that infamous temper of hers and storm back into the theatre, gun drawn and spittle flying, to take control of the proceedings and chew Jason and the others free with her bare teeth.

 

Ok, that might be over the top, she acknowledged ruefully. Lupa or not, I don’t drool. It was an honest assessment of her mood, though, and she knew why they all were looking at her like a ticking time bomb. It wasn’t as though they could blithely stand aside and let her have her way. They’d have to risk life and limb to stop her, because there would be hell to pay with Jean-Claude and Richard if they didn’t. She clenched her jaw as she once again caught Micah and Nathaniel, her two self-appointed bodyguards, exchanging worried glances behind her back as they patiently shadowed her.

 

It was the feeling of impotence, she knew, that had her nerves taut. It wasn’t in her nature to sit back and just let events flow around her. And people she loved were in jeopardy or being hurt. She’d hurried over to Sylvie, as soon as Stephen had brought her to Lillian, but she could do nothing useful beyond offering her sympathy. That was a tough pill to swallow; she was Lupa, and had healed others through the munin, but only through sex. That was the kicker in her life. Other than her necromancy, her newfound powers always came down to sex; sex and touch, and without an attraction she was stymied.

 

Her self imposed guilt had made it awkward. That, and Sylvie’s pride. She’d never sat still for pity, and didn’t really take comfort in her presence. The wolf in the wounded woman didn’t want another to sense weakness. The female in her didn’t want to show that she couldn’t run with the big dogs.

 

Even her angry intent to find out what the hell Gregory had done to piss off the paramedic was quickly shunted aside as she watched him scurry off on whatever errand the woman had sent him on. Ok, to be honest, that whole exchange HAD been a bright spot for the evening. Hell, all three of them had laughed at seeing Gregory flummoxed by Dougherty, and his expression when she thumped him in the ass was the only laugh she’d had all night. It was just, at each avenue, she had Jean-Claude in her mind, reminding her that she was to let others lead this night. As soon as this was over, she was calling Marianne. Future card readings were going to come with a lot more elaborate explanations, even if the vargarmor had to make them up.

 

It was too much. She’d been pampered, treated with kid gloves, and shunted aside, and she’d reached the absolute limit of her patience with the sideways glances. Braking unexpectedly, she twirled around, hoping to catch Micah and Nathaniel off guard. Fat chance of that with lycanthropes; they simply flowed effortlessly around her, stopping to either side, their faces two serene masks. She hated those looks, and hated it worse that she deserved it. But her seething anger had no outlet, no enemy to unleash it on. Her talents were worthless here; no dead to raise or create, as much as she was itching to pull out her Firestar. Best she was going to get was petulance at the moment.

 

She folded her arms under her breasts, and snapped, “Would the both of you stop that, please?”

 

Lavender and chartreuse eyes slanted towards each other, before returning to their intense scrutiny of her. Again with the looks. Nathaniel nodded, then stepped back slightly and began to scan the crowd. Micah smiled neutrally at her, and moved close enough to lean into her side. He didn’t say anything, just offered his warmth, and she closed her eyes as she soaked in his presence and scent. It wasn’t helping, completely, but it wasn’t actually hurting either.

 

She felt two hands lightly caress her shoulders, before settling into a kneading motion that instantly had her relaxing and composed. Smart leopards; she knew instantly who Nathaniel was trying to find as Micah distracted her. Knew without opening her eyes that her vampire servant had come to her, and was offering her the only thing he could; his serene nature.

 

Damian’s hands descended, one encircling her waist so that his hand lay flat against her stomach, the other caressing her cheek in a loving familiar gesture. He reveled in this power he had over her. Anita, he breathed into her mind, allowing her to feel his pleasure at the intimacy they shared, be it chaste and fleeting at times.

 

Anita felt his joy at the contact, and smiled inwardly. Her head cradled against his shoulder, she opened her eyes to his impossibly green ones. Cats eye’s; an omen, really, considering he’d found a home with the Pard, and love with a wereleopard. And their queen.

 

‘Called you in for crisis control, did they?’ she answered back silently, not bothering to speak out loud when the nuanced communication of the marks offered so much more.

 

She felt a faint tinge of worry from him, fear that she would be annoyed with his interference. Anxiety was an ingrained emotion with her vampire, one she knew she’d never completely break him of.

 

‘It worked though, did it not? My one superpower. ’ He gave her a lopsided grin at that.

 

She rolled her eyes and gave a very unladylike snort. ‘You’ve been spending way too much time with Jason. Superpower? But yes, it worked.’

 

She hated to admit it, but it always worked. Superpower indeed. But at the moment, she was hard pressed to care, basking in the attention of three of her men. Coolness at her back, warmth at her side, acceptance in front of her. God had given her exactly the temperament people she needed to keep her black pit of hell anger in check. She was a lucky woman, a fact that she silently admitted she’d appreciate more if she’d only stop freaking out and allow herself to.

 

A sultry, triumphant voice slid into her mind. ‘A point I have incessantly and oh so patiently attempted to guide you into believing, Ma Petite. So glad you finally have deigned to agree with me.’

 

She pushed out of Damian’s embrace. Damn self-satisfied sanctimonious vampire, she railed to herself. ‘Was there something you needed, Jean-Claude, or did you just feel this burning desire to read my inner thoughts and say I told you so?’

 

A faint tinge of amusement suffused her mind. ‘Tsk. Such undeserved harshness. But I do need your assistance.’ Jean-Claude outlined their predicament, and Patrick’s plan. A plan that needed her Nimir-Raj. Not her, of course; heaven forbid she be allowed to dig even though she was petite enough to fit.

 

Well, at least she was good for one thing tonight; being a metaphysical walkie-talkie. “Micah, they need you to get to Jason and the others; you and Valentina and Bartholome. They can’t dig them out like the troupe, there’s too much weight to lift off, and they need you to tunnel.”

 

Always agreeable, Micah quietly shimmied out of his shirt, and removed his shoes. “No sense in ruining these.” He leaned forward and gently brushed his lips across hers. “Try not to kill something to make yourself feel better. You should go be with the pack and pard; they need your encouragement and reassurance. Nathaniel, stay by her,” he cautioned before jogging off.

 

Anita smiled at Nate’s earnest eyes as he shimmied in to the empty spot Micah had left. “Looks like your stuck with me,” she started, then shivered and stilled. Jean-Claude was pulling on her, on her and her triumvirate as he snarled his dominance over Primo. Damian and Nathaniel leaned deeper into their embraces, bonding closer with their master as Jean-Claude tapped into their power. Primo was hurt, and ravenous, and she could feel the Master of the City’s rage that he had savaged one of the rescuing wolves for sustenance. An inappropriate humorous thought flitted through her mind; ‘Well, hooray for me. I have a second job; I’m a coppertop battery.’

 

She felt as though she were next to Jean-Claude, no, inside him as he effortlessly forced the vampire to submit. So much power, and such a difference from Primo’s first defiance. They were growing in power, all of them, at an unbelievable rate. A frightening rate.

 

A harried voice sounded once again in her mind. Jean-Claude was being diplomatic, and the necessity of it all was beginning to chafe as time became short and his vampire’s needs more urgent. ‘Ma Petite, Richard is coming with one of his wolves. I fear the loup will need a healer; Primo was a bit rough. Assist our Trimate, Ma Petite. Those we save will need blood, and he is reluctant to do what must be done.’

 

‘What must be done?’ Cryptic wasn’t going to fly with her mood tonight. ‘How exactly do you want me to assist…’ She thought back at him angrily, before trailing off at the skin prickling feeling of raw animalistic that heralded the coming of a powerful lycanthrope seconds before Richard jogged into view, the substantial bulk of an unconscious wolf slung easily in his long, furred arms. He never paused, ignoring various shouted questions and worry as he ran with his burden to the med tent.

 

Right past a startled Anita. “Aw, shit, Jean-Claude. That’s a bit more than just rough,” she whispered as she took off after her Ulfric, Nathaniel and Damian dogging her heals.

 

************************************************************************

 

Micah shimmied his way through the small tunnel they had created in the rubble, following the two smaller child vampires. It had been painstaking, back breaking work, hauling the wreckage they had dislodged back out, but the three of them had quickly reached the trapped box.

 

Soft brown eyes glowed faintly in front of him, and he suppressed a shudder. He’d never had an issue with vampires, but the timeworn adult eyes staring out at him from an eight year old’s body was just creepy. “Micah, good, you are back. Bartholome and I have managed a faint conversation with the Master’s Pomme de Sang. He is well, as is the human, but Byron was not so fortunate. He is crushed beneath the fallen box and they are unable to free him.”

 

The two vampires stared at him expectantly, waiting for his lead. He fleetingly wondered if that was Jean-Claude’s orders, or if they simply were acknowledging his alpha status. “Good news all around. Let Jean-Claude know, so that someone can tell the Lieutenant his wife’s still alive. So what’s keeping us out?”

 

Bartholome examined the wooden wall separating them from Jason and the others. “It just appears to be the side of the enclosure. Jason tells me that there is nothing we would dislodge inside to harm them if we broke through. The better question would be, are we strong enough to get in?”

 

Micah held up his hands, allowing them to lengthen and shift to lethal black claws. “Move aside.”

 

Bartholome scuttled past, allowing Micah access to the end of the tunnel. He leaned his forehead against the smooth mahogany, and yelled, “Jason, can you hear me? It’s Micah.”

 

A faint yip of pleasure, tinged with confusion, greeted his shout. He heard Jason’s muffled voice answer, “Damn glad to hear you, Micah, and not that I’m not grateful, but I was kind of expecting Richard.”

 

Micah smiled at the boy’s joy and enthusiasm. Jason was unquenchable. “Well, in this case at least, size matters. We were only able to dig a small tunnel here, just big enough to get the three of us in and all of you out. I’m going to punch my way through. Move yourself and Katie away, and keep her covered in case I dislodge something.”

 

“Gotcha,” Jason answered, and Micah could hear faint shuffling from the other side. “I moved Katie back. Not that you asked, but what about my safety in case something falls?”

 

“You’ll survive. Let me know when your ready.” Micah clenched his hands into two black fists as he waited.

 

It didn’t take long. “Let her rip, Micah!”

 

He held nothing back, cocking his arm and fist back and twisting his whole torso into the punch. He was Nimir-Raj. He was power, and he poured everything he had into destroying the wood that kept him from rescuing those trapped inside.

 

It was an irresistible force triumphing over an immoveable object. A loud crack echoed through the enclosed space, and he hissed in satisfaction as his hand broke a gaping hole in the wood. Time to be done with this and get everyone home, he thought savagely as he grabbed a splintered piece and pulled it back out, then began to claw larger and large pieces free. Jason and Katie cheered him on inside, for the first time hopeful and optimistic that they would soon be free.

 

It became a frenzy as Bartholome and Valentina joined him, pulling and tossing the jagged pieces of wood further back into the tunnel that they had created. In short order, a large enough opening was clawed out for Micah to squeeze through.

 

Welcoming hands grabbed his arms and helped pull him into their prison. Jason hugged his long wolf arms around Micah’s waist, and began to bathe his chin and neck with his tongue. He flipped the frenetic boy off and pinned him to the ground. “Nice to see you, too, Jason, but we’ve got to go here.” He eyed the both of them critically; other than being disheveled, they were none the worse for wear. Katie was soot smudged, and a little bloody in spots, but not seriously harmed and was grinning at him like a Cheshire cat. “You look good, Katie. Damn lucky you weren’t hurt. Ready to get out of here and see your husband again? It’ll be the only thing that will stop him from pacing and popping antacids.”

 

To his utter surprise, Katie burst into tears. “Zee’s alive then? I figured he had to be outside, but I wasn’t sure, couldn’t be sure that something hadn’t happened out there as well…”

 

Micah moved to take her in his arms, but Jason beat her to it. “Hey now, everything’s going to be fine. Zee’s alive and in one piece, I could have told you that. He’s too ornery to have anything happen to him. You should have said you were worried about him.”

 

She ruffled his head lovingly. “You had enough to worry about in here without me adding my own irrational fears to the mix,” she answered with a pat on his jowl. She turned back to Micah. “And in answer to your question, at the risk of sounding unladylike, hell yeah, get me the fuck out of here! It’s hot, dark, and scary, and worse of all, smells like dog.”

 

Jason snapped at her nose, and she jerked back laughing. “Again with the dog crack!” he groaned. “How many times do I have to remind you; the proper thing to say is it smells like wolf in here! Same genetic family, totally different cool vibe!”

 

Katie laughed, but sobered quickly. Shit, how could she be so selfish. “Byron. What are you going to do about Byron? Jason couldn’t lift the box to get him out. We can’t just leave him here.”

 

Micah grabbed her elbow, and guided her to the entrance to the tunnel. “You leave Byron to us. Between Jason, Bartholome and myself, well get him out. The brunette child vampire is Valentina. Go with her; she’ll get you to safety.”

 

Katie ducked her head and crawled out. A tiny, childlike voice greeted her. “Madam, please. Come with me, I will take you to the others.”

 

She would have balked then, if given a chance. The Shirley Temple sized vampire frightened her worse then anything that had happened that night, but she had no choice, between Micah prodding her from behind and the vampire coaxing her forward. She crawled out from under the wreckage, struggling to keep up with the odd, and very scary child vampire. The enclosed tunnel was suffocating, and dark, and the smoke and cinders burned her lungs and eyes. She wanted nothing more than to be outside, in fresh air, and to see the stars and Zee.

 

In spite of that, she lagged, trying to listen for the sounds of Jason and her rescuers following them. Just keep going, she argued with herself. They’ve got to be right behind you. You’ll see; any second now that annoying little furball will be crawling up your ass wanting to know what the hell I was waiting for, to get a move on already.

 

A disheartening silence greeted her efforts. No crawling sounds. No cursing or dragging noises. Which could only mean one thing - they all were still under that damn box.

 

Katie paused, causing the exasperated waif in front of her to curse eloquently in French and tug insistently on her arm. She slapped the tiny hand away, making the only decision her conscience would allow. “There’s something wrong. We should have heard them coming by now. They must not be able to get Byron out. We have to go back and help.”

 

She could tell Shirley Temple was vexed by the way her fangs were protruding over her petite bow lips. “What can you do, human?” Valentina snarled. “Nothing! The Master commanded me to save you, and save you I shall. Now stop being difficult and come, quickly!”

 

Katie had been insulted by a diva, exploded on, dropped from the sky, and had a werewolf spray gunk all over her. Not to mention, she was a cop's wife. If this little pint sized kewpie doll with fangs thought she could intimidate her , she had another think coming. “Put a sock in it, missy. I can’t just leave him there to die. He saved my life. Pretty much you’re going to have to hurt me to make me move, and if you do that, I doubt Jean-Claude is going to be congratulating you on you’re ingenuity if you do. You don’t want to fail him, now, do you?” For some reason, that got the vampire’s attention. An uncomfortable, almost frightened, look flitted across her eyes. Guess it’s not healthy to fail the man, she thought to herself. A bit of a disquieting thought, but she had more pressing concerns.

 

She folded her body and painstakingly turned around in the narrow passageway. “Didn’t think so. We’re going back to help. If the four of you lifted, would you be able to raise the box high enough for me to slide Byron out?”

 

Calculating blue eyes looked back at the carnage. “Two cannot do it, obviously. But four of us? Vampire and Lycanthrope?” She nodded thoughtfully. “Oui. I believe so. But it is an unacceptable risk to you.”

 

“Fuck that,” Katie snarled, reaching down to rip her dress. The damn thing had been inhibiting her movements the entire crawl, and she needed to be completely mobile to make this work and beat a hasty retreat. “I’d never live with myself knowing I let him die like that. You don’t leave a friend behind.”

 

Valentina made no attempt to cloak her agitation at Katie’s lack of common sense. Soot stained arms reached out to try to grab hold of her wayward charge. “We are already dead, Madam. This will only add an element of finality to his existence.”

 

Katie’s steely tone stopped her in mid-motion. “Byron is as alive as I am. I know what vampires are, but he has thoughts and feeling and a personality all his own that will be snuffed out if I don’t do something to help him. And I for one believe the world would be a sadder place without him. So we’re going back, and you’re going to help save him, or I swear to God I’ll find you one day and stake you myself.”


	25. Chapter Twenty-five

Zerbrowski stood rock still inside the impromptu medical tent. Jean-Claude had sought him out, as the last of the injured troupe was brought to safety, to give him the news. His Katie was alive. She was alive and she was unhurt. Micah and the others had reached the trapped threesome, and Valentina, the whimsical looking vampire with the killer’s eyes, had informed Jean-Claude of their communication with Jason and his wife. How, he didn’t know. Well, actually he suspected it was some weird vampire psychic shit, but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth this time. They were going to save his Katie, the eerie vampires and Micah. And the wolves; he couldn’t forget them. Christ, he was hip deep in preternatural IOU’s, but he’d be happy to pay them all, with interest, as soon as he had Katie in his arms.

 

All the other trapped vampires had been brought out, and were now the center of attention of the preternatural leaders. He’d tried to pay attention to their conundrum – wounded vampires needed to heal; in order to heal, they needed to be able to take blood; in order to take blood, they needed to be strong enough to feed, and if they were depleted to the point that they were comatose…a catch-22. He wanted to care; hell, he knew it was his job to care, especially since they were going to be needing blood donations and a ready supply just wasn’t lying around. And the press was perking up once again. The appearance of the survivors had not gone unnoticed, and the resulting hushed argument had them straining to eavesdrop. But the fact of the matter was he had no interest in anything but seeing his wife walk through that doorway.

 

‘Never again, Katie girl. As God as my witness, I’ll never put you through something like this again.’ He had a greater appreciation of what she went through every time there was news of a cop down in a preternatural attack or a possible shooting. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling.

 

It was a hell of a lot less stressful being on the other side.

 

************************************************************************

 

Lyndsay felt the familiar sensation of saliva pooling in her mouth, an early warning indication that a ground breaking story was afoot. Charred vampires were being brought out of the wreckage, and there had to be a dilemma about them, because the Master of the City and his merry band of preternaturals were in an arm waving histrionic about it. Time to move in, she chortled to herself, but something was nagging at her. Holding her back. Chastising her that this was needlessly cruel. And her hesitation was driving her crew nuts.

 

Matty was hopping from foot to foot with impatience, desperately wanting to get in there and film the story. He couldn’t understand her reluctance to go in for the kill. Conscience never bothered the cast iron bitch before; why the hell was she starting now? What the fuck had that ethereally handsome bloodsucking son of a bitch done to her?

 

“God damn it Lyndsay, no one else is jumping on this. There’s some sort of situation going on in there. Get moving and get us involved!” he fumed, his camera at the ready. She might be independently wealthy or something, but he had bills to pay and a good looking girlfriend to support. Money makers like this didn’t fall into your lap often, and he was grinding his teeth in agitation at the thought they’d lose the opportunity being thrown at them.

 

Lyndsay rubbed her face reflexively, her expression sour. She completely understood his avarice. Hell, she felt the same way too, but just couldn’t bring herself to pull the trigger and barge in. It was like pressing against an unyielding wall of foam in her mind. She wanted to take a step forward, but her thoughts were murky and accusatory, and her legs just wouldn’t obey.

 

She gave up, exasperated and disgusted. “Fuck, Matty, I just can’t. It’s wrong. I can’t explain it, but it’s no good. Like peering in on your parents screwing or something.”

 

Matty made a gagging noise, his face horrified. “Eww. Thank you for sending me into therapy with that little mental image. I think I’m going to barf here.” He sighed and looked longingly over at the assembled vampires and shifters. Headliners, to a person, and he was about to power down his camera and lose the opportunity.

 

His eyelids dropped in disgust. “And I always thought I’d film anything for a buck. Even my folks doing the nasty.”

 

Lyndsay shrugged, her own face a scrunched up mask of perplexity. “Yeah, me too. Do you think the whole situation has magically given us principles or something?”

 

Matty snorted derisively. “No. I think we’ve been well and truly rolled, not that we can prove it. Because hell’s bells, I’m too bent to have scruples.”

 

************************************************************************

 

“Almost done,” Patricia soothed, her voice barely audible in the cacophony of noise that had suddenly risen with the outpouring of rescued vampires. She wasn’t sure if Sylvie heard her; but then, she wasn’t sure if her words were meant for the werewolf or herself. This had been the most excruciating night of her professional career, and it looked like it wasn’t going to end any time soon. The big wolf, the leader, was barreling towards the tent with a bleeding wolf in his arms.

 

She stole a glance at her companions. Lillian and Cherry were engrossed in their task, and were unaware of the new upheaval that was headed in their direction. They needed to be warned.

 

“Hey, guys, we’ve got more lycanthrope wounded headed our way.”

 

Lillian jerked her head up at the news, and swore softly to herself, the words incongruous coming from her motherly visage. “I won’t leave Sylvie like this. Cherry, go over to the Ulfric and see what you can do. Patricia, stay with me,” she commanded succinctly.

 

Cherry nodded, and jumped up to comply. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” was her parting shout as she darted over to the new arrivals. Patricia watched her fleeting form briefly, then bent back to the onerous task at hand. They were nearing the end, and she promised herself a good healthy vomit when she could safely get away. A Miller time, it wasn’t, but her stomach had been demanding that relief for a while now.

 

If she could ever safely get away. Too much was happening, too fast, with inadequate resources to deal with it. If people died because she wasn’t there to help them…she gasped and jumped out of her self-flagellating reverie when she felt a hand on her shoulder. A familiar dark haired woman stood behind her, a young man with amazingly long hair by her side. She chided herself for her inattention; bad enough she let her emotions get the best of her when a cool detached demeanor was needed, but now she’d never heard their approach. Definitely not the impression she wanted these people to have.

 

Her eyes narrowed at the pair, her subconscious prodding insistently at the back of her mind. You know that woman’s face, they whispered, and a memory clicked into place; a memory of the last time she tended wounded in this godforsaken parking lot. The deceptively petite woman was here that night as well. She knew her from reputation, and the news. Anita Blake, animator and executioner.

 

Blake didn’t look like the scourge of vampire kind at the moment. She looked forlorn, harried, and her soft voice sounded sad. “Not to belabor the obvious, but I came over to tell you Richard is here with Teddy; he had a little altercation with Primo and is going to need some help. And they’re beginning to bring out vampire survivors as well.”

 

Anita winced as she looked at the female werewolf’s healing wounds. “I know you shooed me away the first time I offered, but is there anything I could do to help now?”

 

Lillian gave her a smile and a gentle glance. “I wish you could, but from what I understand your ability to heal is, ah, limited in these cases?” she said cryptically. Patricia wondered if it was somehow a slight on Blake’s propensity for killing, but the woman looked more bemused than angry.

 

Anita sheepishly rubbed her hand across her neck. “Sad, but true. Seems like everything in my world now revolves around that one idiosyncrasy.” She winced as she looked down at Sylvie. “Still don’t want me to hold your hand, Sylvie?”

 

Sylvie raised her head, and grimaced out a weak smile at her lupa. “Anita. Sorry I can’t greet you properly.” She flinched as Lillian bent back down to her back. “No, thank you. It’s my own fault for exercising my equal rights and insisting on opening a door for a guy. Big mistake.”

 

“Damn women’s liberation,” Anita grinned back. Her smile quickly faded as she took in the extent of the woman’s injuries. Sylvie noticed her scrutiny, and shrugged painfully. “It’s bad, but I’m alive. And I somehow doubt that I’ll be the only one in need of medical help tonight.”

 

Anita ran her hand over the soft grey fur on the woman’s head. “No, you’re not. Teddy’s hurt as well, though not as bad as you. And they’re just bringing up the wounded vampires. It’s ugly.” She jerked her hands away as Sylvie snapped reflexively as a particularly painful section was removed. Anita grabbed her jowls, and massaged her thumbs along Sylvie’s face consolingly. “I’m sorry. I wish I could do more for you.”

 

She turned back to the young paramedic helping them minister to her wolf. Looking for a distraction for everyone, she brought up her exchange with Gregory. “What the hell was my wereleopard getting into now?” Anita asked her tiredly. “Do I need to have a talk with him about bothering you like that?”

 

Patricia mentally raised an eyebrow at the possessive tone of the woman, then grinned sheepishly. “No, I think I’m the one you should have a talk with. I owe that man an apology; he’d pissed me off, but the one I really wanted to be beating on was Logan, my co-worker. Gregory just happened to attitude me at the wrong place and time. And I have a bit of a temper, and as a general rule do not tolerate taking shit from people.”

 

She’d forgotten about the attractive, lavender eyed man next to Anita, until he coughed out a laugh at her remark. “I could have told him that,” he said softly, his eyes glinting in amusement, a faint smile painting his lips. She looked at him quizzically.

 

“Do I know you?” she questioned, one eyebrow raised. Hell, she knew she couldn’t have met that man before; that much sexual beauty would definitely have left and indelible impression on her.

 

He crouched down beside her. “We met when Jason was shot. You squirted me in the face with a water bottle because I hissed at you one too many times. My name’s Nathaniel.”

 

Well hell, it really was a small world after all. She gaped at him in amazement. “You’re the black leopard that was holding him?” Her eyes traveled up and down his body in appreciation. “You clean up good, Nathaniel. Pleased to see you again. But why aren’t you in there rescuing your buddy?”

 

Nathaniel flinched at that question, and she regretted bringing it up. There was enough hurt going around tonight without adding to the pain with ill thought out comments. She was about to offer an apology, when he spoke. “I wish I was, but I’m needed here. Next to Anita.”

 

She thought for a moment, ready to press for more details, and glad for the diversion. Anita had made her way over to Cherry and the others, and it was beginning to look like she would be needed there as well. But first, another question had burst into her brain, selfish thing that she was.

 

“Does Gregory clean up as nice?” she asked speculatively.

 

Nathaniel smiled knowingly. “I think so. He’s a stripper at Guilty Pleasures, like I am.”

 

 

************************************************************************

 

Cherry wasted no time, pressing a gauze bandage against Teddy’s throat as Richard gently laid him on a free cot. “This looks like it’s coagulating, but could someone hand me a water bottle so I can clean the gore off and see what I’m dealing with here?”

 

Anita grabbed an unopened container, and tore the shrink wrap off before tossing it to the blonde nurse. “Thanks,” Cherry mumbled absently, intent on cleaning off the slowly awakening wolf’s throat. “Damn, but that’s a ragged bite. It’s healing, but it’s gonna need some stitches to help it along and make sure this flap mends properly.” She shouted back to the elderly doctor. “Lillian, do you want me to sew him up or should he wait for you?”

 

Lillian squinted up from her work on Sylvie. “You do it. It’ll be too late by time I get there.” Aggravated, she swung her attention to Richard. “Ulfric, I have enough to do without treating war wounds like that. Can’t Jean-Claude control them better? I’m not being unsympathetic, I know their blood need is crucial to their survival, but I hate to see more casualties created.”

 

Richard heaved out an exasperated sigh. “I know, Lillian. You don’t have to lecture me. It’s being addressed.”

 

Anita peered over Cherry’s shoulder at Teddy’s throat. She winced at the wound, but at least it wasn’t life threatening. Time to find out what Jean-Claude meant by what must be done.

 

“You understand what Jean-Claude wants us to do?” she asked Richard, as she craned her neck backwards, her eyes locking onto Richard’s amber wolf orbs.

 

Oh yeah, he knew, and she could tell he wasn’t pleased about it. His lip was curling back in sub-conscious distaste, his shoulders and arms bunched in resentment. “Gather volunteer blood donors. Preferably lycanthrope, because it packs a bigger kick.”

 

Well, that explained his attitude. Richard had a long standing revulsion to being anyone’s food, and while he tolerated volunteers from his pack, it still was not his favorite concession to Jean-Claude. “He wants you to ask for freely given donations? What if your subordinate wolves catch sight of that one,” Anita argued, pointing to the writhing Teddy. Stitches without anesthesia were not going over well with the big wolf. “They may decide that’s a bit much to risk.”

 

Richard nodded unhappily. “And that’s the problem. If no one volunteers, I’m supposed to pull rank and order them. And I can’t, for a lot of reasons that go far beyond personal distaste. My people are all shifted, and the vampires for the most part are weak. If I try to force them, keyed up as they are, they’re likely to rip them to pieces at the first panic of pain and blood draining. And even if they don’t, that smacks a little too much like cattle to me.”

 

He ran clawed hands through the fur on his arms, and peered down at her. “Can’t you do something, like you did with Damian when I beat him bloody?” he asked, the faintest hint of vexation in his gravely voice.

 

Anita gave him a hard, appraising stare. “I didn’t heal him, I just made him pretty,” she sniped. “But how about the munin? Do you want me to trot out Raina and let her soak in the carnage and have her idea of fun? It’s never worked with vampires before, but what the hell, there’s always a first time. And why stop there? Maybe you’d like me to try to get it on with Sylvie as well to heal her?” She was sounding bitchy, but damned if she cared. Richard always brought the argumentative out in her.

 

Richard heaved himself up to his full seven foot wolf height, and glared down at his Lupa. “For the record, I wasn’t trying to be a bastard with that suggestion. I was just raising an option, and a valid one too, I might add. It’d be nice if you’d stop jumping to a less than flattering conclusion of my motivations every damn time I opened my mouth.”

 

Anita bit back a retort, than stared at him, wide eyed. “You’re absolutely right. I’m sorry. I’m pissed off at being useless, and more than a little concerned that anything I would try to do healing wise would only let the ardeur raise up. Lucky us, everything has to revolve around sex.”

 

Or does it? she thought excitedly. The Wicked Truth. “Preternatural CPR,” she breathed, wide eyed at the memory.

 

************************************************************************

 

“Almost,” Micah strained out, his muscles cording with the effort. “Keep pushing, Jason. It feels like it’s giving”

 

Air hissing through clenched fangs, balanced on his haunches like a furry Atlas supporting the Earth, Jason doubled his efforts, wolf whimpers of frustration vibrating in his throat. Ominous creaks and groans accompanied their efforts, as the two shifters tried to raise the wreckage high enough for Bartholome to haul Byron out. Hands grasped tightly to the comatose vampire’s arms, Bartholome pulled, exhorting the struggling Weres, “Higher. I feel some give, but you need to lift it higher.”

 

Groaning with the strain, the two Weres did their best, and for a moment it seemed as though they might succeed, when a menacing rumbling noise heralded the fall more debris on the top of their enclosure. Smoke and dust filled the small area, and with a bark of dismay Jason collapsed completely to his side. Unable to maintain the small amount of height they had managed on his own, Micah swiftly followed suit, panting on his hands and knees, his sweat soaked hair hanging like a curtain around his face as he bowed his head in exhaustion.

 

God knows what they had dislodged with that effort, and the ominous groans coming from the strained beams didn’t portend anything good. As much as it pained him, they needed to cut their losses a get out. Sympathetic chartreuse eyes bore into Jason’s. It was hopeless, and Micah needed to get them all to safety. “Jason, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t leave my worst enemy to die like this, but we can’t do raise it on our own and there’s no one else small enough to fit in and help. It’s getting hotter and harder to breathe in here, so the fire is still not under control, and I don’t have any faith in how long this box is going to hold the weight pressing down on it. We have to go.”

 

A snarl curled back from Jason’s lip, and Micah allowed his hands to shift to leopard claws at the boy’s defiance. “I know you don’t mean that, Jason. But I will be obeyed in this. We have no choice.” He allowed his power to roll out from him, enveloping the wolf and child vampire with his dominance, his eyes blazing with insistence. If Byron’s life meant saving the three of them, then so be it. He’d made more distasteful choices in the past.

 

Jason flinched at the power display, his fur raised by the goose bumps running across his body. He leaned down dejectedly and nuzzled the prone vampire. “It’s just not right, Micah. It’s just cold to crawl out of here and let him burn or be crushed. What if Bartholome helped, too? Maybe between the three of us we could…”

 

“Could what, Jason?” Micah snarled in frustration, cutting the cub off. He wasn’t happy with the decision either, but damned if he could think of another way. “Push it high enough? I don’t like this anymore than you do, but we run out of hands at that point. Who would pull him out?”

 

Salvation came in the form of a human voice. A very resolute, female human voice that answered from the blackness of the narrow tunnel they had created.

 

“I would.”

 

Micah’s head snapped around, his face a swirl of disbelief, annoyance, and hope. “KATIE! What are you doing back here? You should be safe outside in your husband’s arms. Where’s Valentina?”

 

Valentina’s aggrieved voice echoed from the darkness. “Here as well, Monsieur. The lady is obstiné, and decided that we should all die together in this lost cause.”

 

Katie’s heard whirled around, and she snarled a response, her middle finger held proudly in the direction of Valentina’s voice. “Hey, I may not have passed French but that’s close enough to the English word that I know you just called me obstinate. And this isn’t an impossible task; you yourself said you thought it would work, so stop bitching and fill the boys in.”

 

The cherub wasn’t the only incensed vampire, a fact Katie was quick to pick up on. Bartholome started towards her, not even bothering to hide his disdain. “Bruja! Campesino! A simple task; crawl to safety and you cannot fulfill it. We had our orders. Come! I will take you to the Master myself,” he commanded imperiously.

 

Katie shook her head in amazement. The little prick actually expected her to cower down and obey him. Guess again, Zorro, she thought dourly to herself as she scooted behind Micah, who obligingly let out a warning hiss at the adolescent sized vampire. Jason was even more demonstrative, raising his hackles and tail stiffly and barking a gruff warning. His lips were curled back in a pronounced snarl, far enough to wrinkle his snout and show practically every tooth. “Back off of her, Bartholome, ” he warned menacingly.

 

But it was nothing compared to the white hot anger that was building inside of her. No one was listening to her, or taking her seriously, and valuable time was being wasted on all this posturing. “Listen, buster, Miss Congeniality over there didn’t have much luck with the bully act, and neither will you. Christ, are all vampire’s other than Byron this stuck up and arrogant?”

 

Micah ran his grimy hands through his hair, vainly trying to push it out of his face. “Mostly. The older ones, anyway.” He smiled back at her, his face a mask of deceptive calm as he kept one eye on the slender boy in front of him. “So what’s your plan? We push, you pull?”

 

She sighed in relief. Micah was willing to try, and if he was, the others would listen.

 

“That’s my ingenious plan. What to you think? You guys got one more push in you?”

 

Jason didn’t even bother to answer. He simply rocked back into position, pressing shoulders and considerable arms against the roof of Byron’s prison. Micah gave her a thumbs up, and crawled over next to him, and glared a challenge at the vampires.

 

“Well? You two coming?” he derided, his voice a challenge. “The sooner we do this, the sooner you can fulfill Jean-Claude’s orders and get Jason and Katie out of here.”

 

Valentina’s eyes flashed at the implied insult. “Merde, do we have a choice? Come, Bartholome. This may actually work, and I doubt the harridan will allow us to depart without trying.”

 

The two vampires settled into adjoining spots by Micah and Jason. Micah moved over, and adjusted Valentina until he had everyone where he thought they’d do the most good.

 

He looked over at Katie. “Are you ready? When we get it up, IF we get it up, I doubt we can hold it for long. You’ll have to move fast to yank him out. Don’t be afraid that you hurt him; just do it and we’ll deal with it later.”

 

Katie nodded a little shakily, as she grabbed handfuls of Byron’s shirt. Micah shook his head, and pointed to Byron’s arms. “Not clothing; it could tear, and you won’t have a secure enough grip. We might not have a second chance if that happens. Pull him by the arms.” He waited until she complied, then commanded, “Ok, no holding back here, people. On a count of three. One. Two. Three. ”

 

They pushed simultaneously, and the box rose a good foot off the ground with their combined effort. “Katie, NOW!” he screamed, his voice pitched high with the exertion. Katie didn’t have to be told a second time. She pulled, scrambling, her feet pumping against the ground as she slowly slid herself and Byron backwards. Her mind shrieked at the effort, and it felt as though she was hauling for hours, but in only a matter of seconds she heard Jason’s triumphant yowl of “He’s free!”

 

With a loud crash, they dropped the box back to the ground. In retrospect, easing the overburdened wood down might have been the smarter move. A loud rumble was the only warning they had before the corner of the box where Byron had been trapped cracked and crashed into a heap.

 

She gaped, slack jawed and shocked, at the crushing amount of weight that occupied the space the diminutive vampire once occupied. She looked down at Byron, amazed that they had actually succeeded, when her jubilation was doused at his mangled appendages. “Oh Jesus,” she breathed. “His poor legs…”

 

An menacing moan emanated from the newly formed wreckage. “Will heal,” Valentina snapped impatiently. Wide eyed at the rubble that was now in the corner they had just vacated, the vampire had reached the limits of her temper. Mindful of their continued peril, she whirled around at the recalcitrant human. “And he will live to continue to be an annoyance. As will you. But only if he, and we, get out of this execrable hellhole. Which we cannot do if you stay there frozen and sobbing ineffectually over his wounds,” Valentina spat out, completely at the end of her temper. “So, may we go now? ”

 

Katie couldn’t help it. The stress, the happiness at freeing Byron, the mental image of the baby vampire stamping her foot and having a temper tantrum, were all too much. She burst out into a mixture of laughter and tears.

 

She wiped her eyes, mindful of the worried looks they were all shooting her way. “Fine. You don’t have to cross your eyes and pee yourself in a snit. I want out of here as badly as you do. You can even baby-sit me on the way out. But who’s taking Byron?”

 

Micah answered, once again taking control of the situation. “Bartholome. I’ll take Jason.”

 

Bartholome nodded in agreement, and began to drag Byron to safety, Valentina at his heels. Jason, however, was being less then cooperative. “What the hell do you mean, take me? I can crawl out on my own.”

 

Micah measured Jason shoulder width with his hands. Keeping them apart, he held them in front of the narrow opening of the tunnel and shook his head expressively. “Not like that, you can’t. You too big, Jason. You have to shift back.”

 

“Oh, no. That’s just nuts.” Jason’s ears drooped back, and his head lowered. “I’ll pass out. I’m not powerful enough to stay conscious. I’ll be helpless,” he whimpered. His beast protested that; helpless meant pain. Helpless meant death.

 

Micah’s power flared, just a taste. Enough to remind Jason of his strength. “Yes, you will be. But I won’t. I’ll get you out, Jason. I swear to you I’ll protect you.”

 

That declarative statement should have been enough to satisfy the boy, but Jason just hedged, rubbing his snout against his arm in distress. He finally burst out, “Great. Just great. I’ll be completely naked; Katie’s gonna see the Full Monty!”

 

Katie stopped in the tunnel entrance, not believing her ears. That was bothering the little exhibitionist? “What do you think I’ve been seeing for the past few hours, Jason? Stop being a prude and do as Micah says!”

 

Jason scuttled away from them. “It’s furred. That’s the same as clothes in my book. If I shift I’ll be the Jason you know then. This is just embarrassing,” he lamented.

 

She made her way back to where he was cowering. “This from the stripper whose been teasing me shamelessly for a long time now? Where’s your bravado now?”

 

He snarled at her approach. “Lying with the shredded remains of my tattered clothes, thank you so much for your sympathy and understanding.”

 

Micah laughed. “Katie seeing you naked is the least of your worries, Jason. Aside from the fact that we have to actually get out of here, there’s a ton of rescue, press, pack and vampires outside. You better hope someone has a blanket handy to protect your modesty.”

 

Jason rolled his eyes, defeated. It’s not that he didn’t trust Micah, it was just a frightening enough prospect to put your life in someone else’s hands, but to do it while insensible was just downright terrifying. Besides, it was humiliating. To be dragged out, buck ass naked, while cameras flashed was going to be as bad to live down as the reindeer ears Jean-Claude had made him wear for last years Christmas cards.

 

But he had no choice. Why in God’s name did all his compromises come at the expense of his dignity? “Ok, fine. Give me some space and I’ll shift back. But first, I need to ask Katie something.”

 

Micah shrugged, a quirky smile the only break in his usual complacent demeanor. “OK by me, but you’d better hurry. I can hear a vampire mutiny in the works out in the tunnel.”

 

Jason shrugged. Like he gave a damn at the moment. But before he lost consciousness, he had to know if he was right.

 

Green eyes glittering, he asked, “Zee’s name. It’s Boris, isn’t it?”

 

Katie laid her forehead against Jason’s, merriment dancing in her eyes. “Bingo. I’ll even give you his middle name. Boris Maximillion.”

 

Jason’s snout was right next to her ear as he barked out his triumph. “Boris! As in boinking Natasha, chasing moose and flying squirrel Boris?”

 

Katie shushed him by grabbing his snout and squeezing it shut. She gave him a tiny warning shake. “Now you know why he never wanted to use it. Can you imagine the cops in the precinct running ruthless with that little bit of information?” Katie laughed. “Even his middle name; how many Maxi Pad jokes do you think he would have endured? Now, you’re sworn to secrecy on that. You too, Micah; I know you heard!”

 

Micah smiled, and pantomimed zipping his mouth. “My lips are sealed. But it’s worthless trying to extract a promise like that from Jason. It’s just too good not to use.”


	26. Chapter Twenty-Six

  
Author's notes: Slight Micah Spoiler in this one  


* * *

Anita’s thoughts flashed back to that fateful November day in Malcolm’s Church of Eternal Life. Truth lying there insensate, masterless and unable to heal the wound the silver knife had created. Jean-Claude had shared power through her, infused Truth with his own strength so that the wounded vampire was able to feed. They were able to do this even though Truth was not yet oathed to Jean-Claude. All through a kiss. 

 

All of the unconscious vampires were Jean-Claude’s; his to protect. The power would be more easily shared with those beholden to the Master of the City.

 

Jean-Claude’s approval warmed through her head. ‘Very good, Ma Petite. As you did with Truth, I intend us to do with my troupe. If I could not heal them outright, I would push enough power into them to allow them the strength to feed.’

 

Anita’s thoughts were excited, infused with hope for her Kiss. Because they were hers as much as Jean-Claude’s; maybe not the same way the pard was hers, or the pack, but she counted them as friends nonetheless. As those she would aid and protect. ‘We could lend a hand, Richard, Damian, Nathaniel and I. We could help push the power into them as well. At least it’s worth a try. It’s just a shame I can’t heal the wounded shifters that way.’

 

Jean-Claude felt her pain at her helplessness. He already knew the munin could not be used; Anita felt no attraction to either of the werewolves who were injured. And using that particular power would only excite the ardeur, and it was a miracle that it had been kept at bay this night. He offered the only other possibility he could conjure. ‘You healed the wounded at Narcissus’ club,’ Jean-Claude thought speculatively.

 

Anita gave him the mental equivalent of an eye roll. ‘I spread power around, Jean-Claude, and King had to die to do it. Who do you suggest I drain? And how do we explain it to the all the authorities present?’

 

She looked over at Richard. It wasn’t eavesdropping, per se; they had kept the marks wide open since the first explosion to facilitate communication, so he had been following their conversation intently. He was confused, an expression that conveyed itself equally well in wolf form. But uncharacteristically, he was silent, biding his time and objections until Jean-Claude arrived and they could carry on the discussion in person.

 

‘We cannot, Ma Petite. It was more an observation than a suggestion. They will heal on their own, your tender heart aside. My vampires will not. It is a pity to have tried so hard to save them to allow them to succumb to their wounds.’ He thought pointedly at his wolf. ‘Don’t you agree, Richard?’

 

Richard scowled in their thoughts. ‘I will ask, Jean-Claude, but my wolves are not the only potential donors present, you know. There are safer ones here; ones that aren’t shifted lycanthropes who might just finish the job with the troupe if they feel life threatened. The pard is here, and the rodere. And humans.’

 

Anita broke the connection abruptly as she watched Jean-Claude exiting the building with the stretchers of surviving vampires. Her breath hitched at the sight; even soot smudged, he didn’t quite manage unkempt, and he looked regal in a pissed off, how dare someone do this to my people kind of way. She expected him to come over to her, but his attention was elsewhere as he searched the crowd, settling finally on Zerbrowski. He glided over to the RPIT Lieutenant, and with a smile laid a hand on his arm and spoke to him briefly. She watched as Zerbrowski’s knees nearly buckled in relief, his face awash in happiness and his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. He nodded his thanks, and clasped Jean-Claude’s arm in gratitude before he turned away to compose himself. Anita already had known Katie was alive and unharmed, and felt ashamed that she hadn’t thought to let Zerbrowski know as well. She was getting too comfortable with the marks, and the mental communication inherent with them. So much so that she forgot sometimes that the whole world couldn’t listen in as well. 

 

Unerringly, Jean-Claude turned in her direction, his midnight blue eyes seeking her out. The connection was electric, and as soon as their eyes met, she instinctively reached out a hand to touch Richard. It was like a conduit that was completed when she made the physical connection, and she watched entranced as Jean-Claude’s eyes bled solid blue as he drank in the power of their triumvirate. His jubilation echoed through both their minds. ‘Merde, and we have yet to take the fourth mark.’

 

She felt Richard go rigid beside her. ‘Gloat later, Jean-Claude. We have to discuss this, ALOUD, so that everyone who isn’t psychically bonded can participate.’

 

Jean-Claude laughed, a sound more of authority than amusement, as he purposefully made his way over to them. He waited until he was within earshot before answering aloud. “Richard, I do not disagree. In order to heal, my vampires need blood, and donors willing to give it willingly. If you feel my wolves would be more a detriment then a help, so be it. But it is a conundrum. I can draw on you two, and your triumvirate as well, Anita, to give strength to them, but without blood I cannot heal them. Not all of them, at least. So it would be a moot point. And we will have wasted our efforts to get them all out.”

 

“Take a look as Sylvie and Teddy, Jean-Claude, and the rest of my shifted wolves digging out the victims,” Richard argued defensively. “We’ve done our part, above and beyond. None of the pack wants to see them die, and I haven’t said I wouldn’t press them to volunteer, but there are others here who can step up to the plate as well.”

 

Anita broke in, her mind still on something the Master Vampire had said earlier. “You’d said that before, Jean-Claude, about healing.” Anita questioned, her confusion making her sound slightly vexed. “What can you do to heal them?” 

 

He turned bright eyes towards her. “Do you recall the Traveler?”

 

“Liv,” she murmured quietly, eyes bright at the prospect. “He was able to heal her when I kept shooting her kneecaps off. I thought that was just a power of his, of being on the council.”

 

Jean-Claude shrugged expressively. “It is perhaps more a gift of the powerful. I am a Sourdre de Sang, and the master of a Triumverate. It may be that this is an ability I can wield as well. Like harming at a distance, I know how it is done. I can but try if it is a last resort. If no one will assist with blood.”

 

Anita gave him a hard stare. There wasn’t a lot of time to waste on experimentation. “You still couldn’t do the cutting act, Jean-Claude. I could, though.”

 

Sometimes eloquence could be accomplished without words. Jean-Claude eyelids drooped, and he raised a single brow expressively. Anita sighed apologetically. Cheerleading simply wasn’t her forte. “I know. How positively impolitic and negative of me to point that out. But it’s the truth. Maybe if you pulled on the pack through Richard, and the Pard through me…”

 

He finished her sentence for her. “It still may not be enough. There are so many grievously harmed, and it perhaps is not the time for experimentation, as you so elegantly implied. I do not wish to deplete our power on a hope. I can, we can, rouse them enough to feed. But we are again back to needing blood.”

 

Zerbrowski’s voice cut in as he came in on the tail end of the discussion. He looked composed, relieved. Amazing what focus you could get out of knowing your wife was still alive and well. “Can’t we just bag them, and take them to a safe location? Then you can deal with them next nightfall under better circumstances and in a more organized manner,” Zerbrowski argued as he gestured back at the assembled vampires.

 

Jean-Claude shook his head decisively. “Non. Most of them are not Masters, and in all likelihood would not rise again. They need to be helped, now, or not at all. I can assist, but my power, while it is considerable and keeps them alive and in control, is not limitless.”

 

Anita pulled him aside worriedly. Zerbrowski had learned a lot in the past few hours, and she was unsure how much more he should know about hierarchy and power dependency. “Careful, Jean-Claude. You’re venturing very close to blood oath territory there.”

 

“I am aware of that, Ma Petite. Just as I am aware that the Lieutenant has learned much these past few weeks, and it is a little late to pick and chose his knowledge now. Richard trusts him, you trust him, Micah trusts him, and I do as well. He needs to know so that he can assist, and I trust his honor and his silence.”

 

Zerbrowski followed the conversation intently. “I know what you told me about Malcolm’s vampires, Anita. And I’ve been piecing together a lot more myself. I know I’m not an expert, but I understand enough that if Jean-Claude’s says it’s now or never, then it has to be now.”

 

An uncomfortable silence settled about them. Knowing what was needed didn’t necessarily help with the how to achieve it. Nathaniel spoke up, breaking the uncomfortable tenseness that was thickening around the area. “I’ll be glad to help, and I bet the rest of the pard would as well. At least those that haven’t shifted.”

 

Cherry looked back up from her stitches, a fearful, haunted look on her face. “Speak for yourself, Nathaniel. Look at Teddy; all he was doing was helping. I can’t watch Zane get torn up again. I can’t. And I admit it; I’m afraid to do it myself.”

 

She cringed when Jean-Claude swung in her direction, wilting under his intense blue gaze. He ran his fingertips along her cheek, and cupped her chin in his palm in a fatherly, reassuring gesture. “My word of honor. Primo is and always will be an anomaly. I swear to you I will allow no harm to come to anyone who is compassionate enough to render aid.”

 

A familiar voice spoke up. “Do you mean that?” Fitzgerald asked, helmet tucked under his arm, his youthful face smudged with dirt, soot, and sweat.

 

Jean-Claude straightened up from the blond wereleopard, and answered the man simply. “Oui.”

 

“Then count me in. I didn’t dig that poor bastard out,” he said, pointing to the still form of Evariste, “just to sit back and watch him die.”

 

“Merci, my friend. I will tend to Evariste now; he is not a master, and he is in perilous shape.”

 

************************************************************************

 

Damian had slid backwards, near enough to hear the discussion his masters were having, but far enough away that he could also keep an ear on the surrounding proceedings, alert for any other issues or problems that might crop up. It was his club, poor pile of rubble that it was, but he wasn’t about to shirk his responsibilities simply because Theatre de Sang had been destroyed in a dissonance of smoke and explosions. 

 

A shrill voice reached his ears, a bitter sound that had him reflexively covering his ears with his hands. It was one of the guests, a pretty young woman who had an arm in a sling, and he was impressed at the vitriol spewing from her lips. Some of the curses were inventive even by his standards, and he had learned quite a bit over the passing centuries.

 

“I WILL NOT be ignored like this? Who the fuck gives a damn about a bunch of vampires, anyway? They’re obviously dead, for God’s sake, just put a fork in them, they’re done already! I’m in agony, and I want to be transported to a hospital now, or so help me I’m going to start ripping.…”

 

Damian would have been curious to see what and to whom she intended to do said ripping, but Smith, one of the RPIT men, placed a restraining hand over her mouth and tried to shush her quietly. It was a grave tactical error. Her eyes bulging in fury, she promptly bit the young man in the tender skin between his thumb and forefinger, and he howled his pain and jerked his hand away.

 

“How dare you touch me! I’ll have your badge for this, you stupid son of a bitch! You’ll be lucky to get a job at a Mickey D’s after I’m done with your sorry ass,” she raged, apparently distracted from her pain by the affront.

 

Damian knew the young man, and felt he’d done nothing to deserve being banished to a job at Mickey D’s, whatever that entailed. Still keeping an ear on Jean-Claude and Anita, he slid over to the young girl seductively, and ran a calming hand through her hair. Blessed silence ensued. Staring deep into her eyes, he waited until they took on the dreamy quality of the rolled, and whispered a command of “Sleep” into her ear, lightly catching her around the waist and easing her to the ground.

 

Smith came over, a handkerchief pressed to his bleeding hand. A second detective, the one called Merlioni, followed close behind. Smith stared down and the now peaceful woman, and looked like he was thinking of a way to kick her and not get caught. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you, but what the heck did you do to her to shut her up like that?”

 

Damian shrugged, and settled on the truth. They would find out anyway, and he felt there were mitigating circumstances involved. “I took her mind.”

 

“Aw, shit, I was afraid you were gonna say that,” Smith groaned, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “Not that I’m complaining. You know that’s illegal, don’t you? Hell, I think I’m supposed to stake you or something for that, but to be truthful, I’d rather stake the blond bitch there.”

 

Damian shrugged, and smiled. “She was suffering. I rendered humanitarian aid. I have no intention of taking advantage of it, and I will release her as soon as she is ready to leave the area and is no longer a threat to make our ears bleed.”

 

Smith looked like he was about to argue, when Merlioni spoke up behind him. “Hey, I don’t know about you, but I didn’t see a damn thing. And more importantly, I don’t hear a damn thing either.”

 

“Good point. I didn’t see anything either, and I’m sure when she wakes up she’ll suffer no long lasting effects from her little fainting spell.” He looked pointedly at the red haired vampire who had blessed them with sweet peace. “Will she, Damian?”

 

Damian reclined his head in agreement.

 

“Then we have your back. It’s not like the little princess is going to remember anything anyway.”

 

*************************************************************************

Jason stared defiantly at the stronger shifter, making a final stand for his pride, even though he knew it was a losing cause. Sure enough, he could see the Nimir-Raj’s expression darken.

 

Micah’s face and voice hardened. “Ok, fun’s over. Valentina and Bartholome are already making there way out, and if they get to Anita and the others without us close behind there will be hell to pay.” He stared down the young wolf. “Jason, you have to shift back now. Katie isn’t about to leave without you, and I don’t want to wait around and see if this enclosure holds or not.”

 

Jason nodded miserably, ears drooping in defeat, and turned pleading green eyes around to Katie. “Could you turn around, please? I know you’ll see me afterwards, but I’ll be unconscious by then. Can you at least allow me the façade of privacy?”

 

Katie solemnly made a cross over her chest. “I swear not to peek. Much anyway.” She winked at him encouragingly. “But it’ll be difficult. You are a cutie pie, you know.” She tilted her head back and glanced down appreciatively at his shifted package. “It’s not like I don’t have a bit of an idea….Oh! Is that it? Does it shrink along with the rest of you?” she teased, batting her eyes innocently as she tried to jolly him out of his obvious distress.

 

Jason hunched his shoulders and rotated his neck as he mentally prepared himself for the transformation. “You’re a cold, hard woman, Mrs. Boris Maximillion Zerbrowski. If it wasn’t for the fact that Micah would rip me to shreds, among others, I’d nip you a good one for that. And I’m no drop kick dog, so it would definitely leave a mark if I did!” He made a shooing motion with his hand. “If you don’t mind?”

 

Katie obligingly shifted so that she was no longer facing him. As soon as she completed her turn, she heard a familiar popping noise and pained groans from behind, and promptly forgot her promise as she swung her head around to see if Jason was all right. It was an amazing display, even in the dimness of their self made cavern. She was hard pressed to describe the sight of the boy’s body soaking up his fur and claws, when a documentary film of a plant growing in time lapse photography burst into her thoughts. Jason’s transformation was just like that, a slow motion special effect in reverse, as his grey fur and teeth were swiftly absorbed back into his skin. In short order, the Jason she knew was tottering before her on his knees, and her eyes met his true sky blue ones briefly before they rolled up into the back of his head and he collapsed quivering at her feet.

 

Even though she had been prepared for it, his fainting frightened her, and she reached out for him. “Jason!” 

 

Micah held a restraining arm in front of her to stop her. “He’s fine, Katie. Remember your promise to him. I don’t think he’ll want to hear that you patted him down when he was nude and helpless.” He released her, then began to unbuckle his pants. “Can you give me a hand here?”

 

Katie was about to argue when his request stopped her cold. “Beg your pardon?” she asked incredulously, flabbergasted at his little strip tease act.

 

He smiled evilly. “I said, can you help me? I want to put my pants on him. I have to drag him out, and he’s bound to get torn up a bit if I do it while he’s completely naked.”

 

Katie could see his logic, but there was a definite lack of timing at play. “Wouldn’t it have been easier to do this while he was still awake? Isn’t there a danger factor here?”

 

Micah shrugged, unrepentant. “Yes, and Yes. But this will take less time than if he was awake, if you help. Jason would have spent at least another fifteen minutes arguing and making comments. And think of the mileage we can get out of this. Don’t you want any ammunition against the Boris thing?

 

She grinned, enjoying the amusement she could see in his chartreuse eyes. Micah was one shrewd man. “Good point. You want me to hold up his legs while you yank?”

 

“That’ll work,” Micah answered as he shimmied out of his dress slacks. Whoa, Momma, Katie thought as she got a good look as his underwear. She couldn’t help it. It was like trying not to stare a wart on someone’s nose, or a really big chested woman or something. Micah was a good looking man, in a feral, mysterious kind of way. Micah in sexy, provocative, form hugging boxer briefs was just down right awe inspiring. They were green, and matched his eyes, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out who he had done that bit of vanity for.

 

He turned his twinkling cat’s eyes on her. She wasn’t surprised he was amused, but she was a little taken aback by his defensive tone. “I know you’re looking Katie. Your jaw dropped.”

 

Stung, and a little afraid he was being condescending, she scoffed, “What makes you think I haven’t seen bigger?”

 

He quirked an eye at her. “You and the Lieutenant have a thing for porn flicks or something? Or are you trying to say Zerbrowski is as, ah, better endowed than I am?”

 

“What? No! Maybe!” Damn! She thought. That was an intelligent comeback. She was babbling herself into a corner.

 

He motioned her over to the limp form of Jason. “It’s OK. Just as long as you’re not implying freak here.”

 

She softened her tone. Why a man as gifted as he seemed to be was defensive about it was beyond her, but apparently he was and she had to respect that. She answered softly as she helped him slide the pants onto Jason. “Micah, I know we don’t know each other that well, but do I look like the type that would be as cruel and thoughtless as to imply anything derogatory to the man who had just risked his neck to save mine?”

 

He gave her a cryptic smile. “I apologize. You aren’t the type to be mean spirited or judgmental in anything, but in my defense you’d be surprised how many people are.” He hooked an arm under Jason’s, and motioned her to go on ahead of him into the dark tunnel.

 

“Let’s go home.”

 

************************************************************************

 

Jean-Claude clasped the willing fireman by the elbow, and led him over to the burned and battered vampire. Fitzgerald came haltingly, stiff with apprehension, his breathing rapid and slightly panicked. As before, in the ruins, he refrained from taking the young man’s mind, allowing him the courtesy of free will and the option to change his decision if he so desired.

 

He spoke softly, for Fitzgerald’s ears only. “If you are still willing, Monsieur, you need to get closer. Evariste will require sustenance very quickly after he is revived.” Fitzgerald looked down at the ragged vampire, cataloguing his burns, watching as one of the other vampires cut away his costume, peeling away layers of skin that had fused to the fabric with the heat of the flames. His back was an oozing mass of lash marks, and sickened, he wondered where the hell the man had gotten them as well.

 

He chewed his lower lip, eyes narrowed as he tried to decide if he could live with himself if he backed out now. He took a deep breath, held it for a count of five, and then slowly let it out. Nope. He couldn’t do it. 

 

“I’m in. Let’s do this before I lose my balls, conscious be damned.”

 

Jean-Claude laughed quietly in his ear. “A very candid and very American answer. Merci.” With a gentle tug on his arm, he coaxed Fitzgerald next to him as he knelt beside the comatose form of Evariste. He smoothed the charred and filthy brown hair away from Evariste’s face, murmuring almost inaudible words of encouragement in French. He centered himself, gathering his power, and banished his anger at the whole affair. No one interrupted him, but he could feel the questions from his Human Servant and Wolf. ‘You wish to ask something?’ he asked, distracted from his task.

 

His ever inquisitive, ever argumentative Richard responded. ‘Why are you jumping into it already? You only have one volunteer. Is Evariste in that bad shape? He could hear Anita concurring as soon as his wolf was through. The both of them were such children, and had so much to learn about leading.

 

Jean-Claude stroked his vampire’s throat and patiently explained aloud for their benefit, and to honor the man next to him. “I thank you again, Mr. Fitzgerald, for your brave offer. Perhaps if we show the rest, you and I, that it is a noble but not dangerous thing that you do, others will offer as well.” With that, he commanded ‘Join me’ to his triumvirate and devoured Evariste’s mouth with a kiss.

 

It was not a gentle sharing, the preternatural force that was shoved into Evariste’s body. It was a brutal thrust of energy, a command to live that had the lithe dancer arching his back off of the ground in pleasured agony, his eyes flying open to reveal orbs that had bled a complete midnight black. Jean-Claude pulled back, his mouth still open and damp from the contact, his own eyes solid sapphire jewels of dominance and triumph. He shoved an open hand against Evariste’s chest and pinned him to the ground. The other he held out towards the fireman in a silent gesture of command.

 

Fitzgerald froze, mesmerized by the lack of white in both of their eyes, and more than a little troubled by what had just transpired. He hesitated, then leaned in to whisper, “I don’t have to kiss him like that, do I?”

 

Jean-Claude laughed, an amused sound completely at odds with the frightening visage of supernatural strength gracing his features, and an emotion he was unexpectedly delighted to feel considering the circumstances. Merde, but he did so love the youth of this country. “You find that a worse fate than offering your throat to a ravenous vampire?”

 

Evariste pushed up feebly against his restraining hand. “Master, I beg of you. I need,” he whimpered, his eyes locked on the oh so near human.

 

“Shush, Evariste. Soon. Be at peace,” he crooned, and the vampire subsided. He turned his attention back to Fitzgerald. “Monsieur?”

 

Fitzgerald rubbed his sweaty palms across his thighs. “Well, no, but the guys are watching. Getting bitten is an easier fate to live down.”

 

Jean-Claude gave a feral grin, and asked incredulously, “You really have never had the pleasure of sharing your blood with a vampire before, have you? It was more than just fear at a newly awakened vampire; you have no experience at all.”

 

Fitzgerald shook his head, a jerky nervous motion that mutely gave voice to his inner fears. “Why sound so surprised? I doubt that I’m in the minority here, you know.”

 

Jean-Claude took the man’s hand, and guided his wrist to Evariste’s mouth. “Then you are in for a marvelous experience. I have told you, I will not allow you to be harmed, and if you consent I have invested Evariste with enough power to soothe your mind and make it a most pleasurable experience.”


	27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

Micah crawled through the tunnel, curtailing his impatience at the slow pace. He could hear the almost imperceptible groaning behind them, a menacing creaking and settling of debris as the sheer weight of the rubble inexorably pressed downward on the open spaces underneath. He could only go as fast as Katie could crawl, and he was careful to keep her laboring form within eyesight as he dragged the limp unconscious boy behind him. It was harsh on his knees, and his back and shoulders were beginning to ache from the bent position he was in, but it was worth it. They were almost home free.

 

He could hear the woman’s pounding heart and panting breaths. _Hang in there, Katie. Almost there_. Not wanting to patronize, but needing to know her condition, he schooled his voice to small talk innocuous and asked, “You alright up there? You want me to help you along as well?”

 

Katie never stopped, and barely took the time to pant back at him, “I’m fine, and getting even better by the minute. I can hear people faintly, so I think we’re getting close to the end!”

 

Micah smiled. She’d make it, come hell or high water. He could respect that. She was a survivor like he was. And she was absolutely right; he’d been picking up the pack for a few moments now, and could hear the rising excitement outside. Valentina and Bartholome must have already made it out with Byron to cause that much milling around and mounting enthusiasm. Suddenly the tunnel began to echo with their canine yips and howls; they must have caught Jason’s scent as well.

 

Katie startled, and paused in her escape. He pushed lightly on her butt, encouraging her to move on. “Just a few more minutes,” he cajoled calmly. “Prepare yourself. There are a lot of happy wolfy friends of Jason’s out there. You may get bowled over and nibbled on a bit.”

 

Katie sniffed and continued onward. “Just great. Like _that_ hasn’t already happened an infinite number of times this evening. What is with these guys, anyway? I’ve had lifelong mongrel pets that doggy kissed me less. And now I’m facing down even more unidentified saliva? What a rescue picture that’s going to make. Torn dress, smudged makeup, and a lot of drool dripping down my face.”

 

Micah laughed appreciatively. God, what a woman. The Lieutenant had best realize what a lucky man he was. In as serious a voice as he could muster, he answered politely, “As a man of feline persuasion, I’ll do my best to defend your honor against the more canine members of the lycanthrope families. But I do have a question of my own.” He prodded her forward again, and ignored the rolled eye look she shot his way. “Before we crawl our way out completely, I have to know – just how freaked is Zerbrowski going to be about the name thing?”

 

Katie winced. It wasn’t like she’d forgotten about it, but it was just an atomic event she didn’t have the energy to contemplate at the moment. She answered frankly. “He’ll be mad, but it was for a good cause. I’m hoping my current near death experience will save me from a future near death experience when he finds out. Because he’s going to find out; no way Jason isn’t going to tease about that. I’m just shocked he knew the damned cartoon!”

 

Micah gave a belly laugh, the first she had heard from the compact man. “He’s not the only one, by any stretch of the imagination. I can’t wait to tell him to ‘Shut up your mouth!’” he chortled evilly.

 

Katie shrunk in on herself in disbelief. “How the _hel_ l do you know that! That has to be way before your time.”

 

Micah shook his head. “You, my dear woman, have apparently never watched the hundreds of cable channels you possess. Rocky, Bullwinkle and Fractured Fairy Tales are cult classics. And before you ask, the answer is yes. _Everyone_ in the shifter communities watches them!”

 

************************************************************************

 

Jean-Claude watched carefully as the young man, Fitzgerald he was called, pulled back. He had anticipated hesitation at his suggestion, and he tolerantly watched as the firefighter narrowed his eyes and nervously licked his dry lips. 

 

Fitzgerald’s voice was shaky as he protested, “ _Wait a second_ , what do you mean by pleasurable? He’s about to bite me, for God’s sake. And why do I have to give my permission?”

 

Anita’s voice echoed in his mind. _You have to overcome his objections, Jean-Claude, or everyone who’s even considering helping will back ou_ t, her worried thoughts seeped into his own.

 

_Watch, and learn, Ma Petite. I have not had unwilling donors for centuries based solely on my own sexual prowess and aura_. He turned his attention back to Fitzgerald. “If it was only a painful experience, Mon Ami, why do some people flock to offer a vein to a vampire? You have no personal experience, but surely you’ve heard stories? Of how pleasant it is to be rolled by a vampire?”

 

Fitzgerald’s eyes darted as he desperately tried to look anywhere but in the depths of Jean-Claude’s eyes. He answered haltingly, “Well, yeah, but I figured they had to be exaggerated. And isn’t there a bit of danger involved? A control issue?”

 

Jean-Claude stiffened slightly at the implied rebuke. “I have given my word no harm will befall you for your generosity,” he answered assuredly. “Trust me; look into Evariste’s eyes and you will not regret the experience.”

 

Fitzgerald stared down at the ground, thinking hard. He was more than a little nervous at the whole thing, but he wasn’t going to go back on his word. A tremulous touch stroked his hand, cold and weak, and he looked down at the needy vampire. 

 

Tension thrummed through Evariste’s body, the tight control he was keeping on his desperate need evident to anyone who cared to look. It surprised him, actually, after what he had seen happy with the huge fucker Primo. It looked like the Master of the City was a man of his word. He bent closer to hear the faint words. 

 

His voice unsteady and raspy, Evariste begged, “You are the one who carried me out, no? The one who was so concerned for my well being?” Fitzgerald nodded, and the vampire smiled gratefully in return. “Then please, there is little enough that I can do to repay your kindness now; allow me to do this small thing. Permit me to make your gift enjoyable.”

 

Fitzgerald frowned. “I’m not doing this for kicks. You don’t have to repay me. It’s my job; well, I guess it really isn’t, but I want to do what I can to help. It’s just…I can’t explain it,” he faltered, a little lamely to his own ears as he looked for help from the raven haired vamp. How do you explain that your conscience wouldn’t let you just walk away? Wouldn’t let you turn your back on something you knew was an absolute injustice? He looked down and shrugged, resolute. “The shit that happened here tonight just isn’t right.”

 

Jean-Claude carefully schooled a solemn look on his face. Inwardly, he was smiling at the earnestness of the young man. “I believe allowing yourself to be fed from is, how you say, above and beyond the call of duty?”

 

Fitzgerald straightened proudly. “ _Improvise, Adapt, and Overcome_. That’s our motto.” He thought about that. If a little rolling took away the pain…he nodded his agreement and deliberately stared into the eyes of the waiting vampire. They were brown, a deep, rich brown that reminded him of the earth, of life. Of warmth, and comfort, an all encompassing enriching glow that quieted his breathing and had his eyes drooping sleepily. He could feel his wrist slowly being drawn to Evariste’s mouth, could feel the pressure of the bite and hear the wet sucking sound as the vampire greedily swallowed his blood. But there was no pain, only a surprising tingling, and a pleasant feeling that was vaguely like…

 

“Oh, SHIT!” he moaned as a jeans suddenly became very, very tight. 

 

***********************************************************************

 

Halligan guzzled the bottle of water, glad for the wetness sliding down his parched throat. It wasn’t a particularly warm evening, but between the gear and the exertion, not to mention the heat of the fire, he’d been sweating buckets for a few hours as they got things under control, and the water he was gulping was 24 ounces of sheer bliss in an otherwise hectic night.

 

And it was finally, successfully, coming to a close. The fire was under control; that little job went by the book, and there was nothing left but soggy ruins and no chance of a flame up or propane explosion. The last of the trapped people were on their way out, and while there were casualties, it wasn’t anything that his engine company had done to cause them. He looked over at Patrick, who squatting exhausted on the ground. Someone owed that man a bonus, or a hand shake, or at the very least an “Attaboy” pat on the back. The kid was a genius when it came to construction, and Halligan knew he’d have to figure a way to wheedle him into being a consultant. He could give a shit if he wore a flea collar or not. Good men were hard to come by.

 

He stretched luxuriously, until he heard a satisfying ‘pop’ as his vertebrae loosened. It was time to start wrapping things up. The only issue left was the wounded, and he hadn’t a clue as to how he was going to deal with a bunch of charred vampires. He’d like to say it wasn’t his problem, but if they had been human casualties, it’d be his issue, so he wasn’t about to split hairs now. He could see some action going on in the makeshift medical tent, and made his way over to find out what was going on.

 

In time to see one of his men get bitten. _Christ almighty, every time he thought he couldn’t be surprised life up and bit him right on the fat hairy ass_. He may have been bandy legged, and a little up there in years, but when his men were concerned he could make record time, and he flat out ran to Fitzgerald’s side.

 

Only to have the Master of the City block his path. _Like some prissy candy assed vampire could keep him back_. He snarled furiously, “ _Jaysus_ Christ, what the hell is going on here? Why is Fitzgerald getting molested by that vampire?”

 

Jean-Claude respected his ire, and refrained from touching the man. He answered in as appeasing a voice as he could muster, “His virtue is intact, I assure you. He volunteered to assist, and there are witnesses to his kind offer.” His eyes hardened with resolve. “My people need to feed, and there are a dearth of willing donors to aid them.”

 

Halligan reined in his Irish. He could hear the sincerity in the blue eyed vampire’s voice, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t some vamp trick being played on him. And Fitzgerald looked fine, truth be told. Better than fine, in fact. Downright happy was an apt description.

 

He counted off the rows of blankets that held a wounded preternatural. About two dozen, not counting the vampire they were bringing out now. And they were going to need blood for all of them. He could hear a hullabaloo going with the werewolves; a lot of barking and yelping which can only mean one thing; the lost lambs were free.

 

He reached into his never ending pocket of cigars and pulled out yet another for the night. A therapist would have a field day with him with his oral pacifier. “Looks like you can add one more to the injured reserve list, Sir. Fine. I’ll roll up a sleeve for the cause myself if it means we get everyone who came out of that building home alive. And I’ll see what I can do with the rest of my men.” He looked backed to see the happy milling quickly devolving into chaotic bedlam. 

 

“But I think you should go over and take charge there before they pummel the poor bastards who just came out to death. Be a shame to lose anyone because of excess happiness.”

 

Jean-Claude’s eyes beamed as he took in the spectacle and saw Katie, Micah and Jason come into view. “ _Mon fils aimé_ ” he breathed, as he started over to the chaos. He stopped as he realized Monsieur Zerbrowski had not seen his wife make her way to safety.

 

He called out to the man. “Lieutenant. Votre épouse chérie.”

 

Zerbrowski jerked his head up from his discussion with Smith and eyed Jean-Claude quizzically. “What do you want, Jean-Claude? I don’t speak a lick of French.”

 

Jean-Claude elegantly pointed his chin in the direction of the building. “Your better half. She is free. Do you not think a tearful reunion is in order?”

 

Zerbrowski’s body went numb as he frantically scanned the crowd for Katie. There. Standing off to where Micah had shoved her. Dirty, scruffy, a little bloody looking, but in one piece.

 

_Alive_.

 

He ran to her.

 

************************************************************************

 

Patricia wearily peeled off her plastic gloves, and shoved them into the ever present hazardous material bin. She shoved her faceplate up, and massaged her closed eyes with her hands. God, that had been the most gut wrenching job she’d ever had to do, and she was ecstatic it was finally over. She could hear Lillian talking to the pretty werewolf; she tried not to eavesdrop, but she was too close not to hear and too tired to try to slip away quietly.

 

“Rest now, Sylvie. You’re all done, and it looks like it’s going to heal unscarred. But for pity’s sake, could you keep the macho stuff to a minimum for a while? Between this little stunt and your coup de tat attempt with Richard, I’ve spent entirely too much time patching you back together in recent memory.”

 

Sylvie’s snout curled in a grimace, and she nodded in agreement. “I need a vacation, or at least a weeks sleep,” she moaned, before she finally succumbed to her body's demands and passed out. 

 

_You’re not the only one needing a week’s sleep_ , Patty thought as she allowed herself the luxury of a closed eyed neck roll. It was short lived, though, and she paused the motion as she felt a soft hand grip her shoulder. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes and looked up into the kindly brown eyes of Dr. Lillian. 

 

Lillian gave a squeeze. “You did well, Patricia. Most people wouldn’t have risked helping a lycanthrope like that, let alone had the stomach for that kind of shifter surgery.”

 

A little embarrassed, Patricia tried to deflect the praise. “That woman is one of the bravest people I’ve ever seen in my life, Lillian. I wish I had half the courage Sylvie just showed. It was little enough that I did.”

 

Lillian gave the paramedic an unwavering look. For whatever reason, Patricia didn’t deal with the spotlight well. No matter; she wasn’t about to let credit not be given when credit was due. “Don’t sell your contribution short, Patricia,” she admonished sagely. “Good people always do what they can, regardless of the cost, and never feel it’s enough. What they don’t realize is that they invariably exceed most everyone else’s expectations.”

 

Patricia uncomfortably shrugged off the praise. “Is she really going to be alright? That was the most brutal thing I’ve ever seen inflicted on another person.”

 

Lillian gave a sad smile. If the young woman wanted to avoid attention, so be it. “We can take a lot of damage and still heal. She would have been scarred as badly as Asher had we not done that quickly.”

 

Patricia had been dying to ask a question, and now seemed to be the best opportunity. Her training for lycanthropes sucked, and she wanted to learn as much practical experience as she could out of this situation. “Why hasn’t she shifted back, now that she’s allowed herself to pass out? I thought they had to when that happened.”

 

Lillian was impressed. It was a smart question from someone who had little experience with their culture. “I told you, Sylvie’s powerful. She has more control than the rank and file wolves, and she’s better off in this form. She’ll heal quicker. Richard will have her shift back when it’s time.”

 

Patty sighed. She hated not knowing. Hated being ignorant. “There’s so much I don’t realized. It’s a crime how little we’re taught, and yet we’re expected to deal with preternatural emergencies whenever they crop up.”

 

Lillian used an alcohol swab to clean her hands, and nonchalantly asked, “Do you want to learn more?”

 

Patricia stilled excitedly, then shrugged. No sense getting her hopes up if they were going to be dashed. “I can’t afford any more schooling. I have bills to pay, and I’m not well off enough to afford any sort of additional medical training. I barely keep my head above water as it is.”

 

Lillian appreciated her independent spark. This one deserved an opportunity, and Lord knew, her people needed the additional resources. “You do well with shifters, and vampires don’t give you a screaming fit either. I have a clinic that works in conjunction with the Coalition and the various lycanthrope groups in the area. I’ll be honest with you; we need help, and we need to have a better rapport with the overall human community. If you’re interested, come see me. I think you’d make an excellent nurse, if not a full fledged Doctor. We can work out the schooling. I think you’re worth it.”

 

Patricia was speechless. Stunned. _No one_ had ever offered to pay her way in anything in her life. Hell, she was proud of the fact that she’d always made her own way, on her own terms. Ok, people sometimes called it pigheaded and domineering, but she preferred to think of it as pride.

 

And the only one who had ever thought her worth anything was herself.

 

For about the hundredth time that night, tears burned at her eyes. She felt a warm presence at her back seconds before two hands massaged her arms in a comforting, almost loving, gesture. She turned to see the auburn haired wereleopard staring at her with caring lavender eyes.

 

“Please do it, Patricia. You accept us, as we are, without a second thought. You really don’t care. That’s something we treasure, and we would take care of you. You could be part of our family.”

 

She pulled him in and hugged him, enjoying his heat and unabashed affection. She had an unobstructed view of the building over his shoulder, and got to see firsthand the vampires and others exit the ruins to a cacophony of cheers and howls. She glimpsed a familiar blond head being dragged out and laid down on the asphalt moments before it was covered in furred bodies.

 

_Someone needs to be over there_ , she thought as she remembered the closeness between the two men. She pushed Nathaniel away, turning him so he could see the same reunion she was watching. “I think there’s someone over there you’ve been waiting to see,” she teased.

 

It warmed her heart to see the way the boy beamed at the news. “Jason!” he purred, and he gave her a quick kiss before loping over to his friend.

 

_Nice to see people happy for a change tonight_ , she thought, as she shrugged out of her coat. The night wasn’t a done deal, not be a long shot. One of the responding fireman was evidently helping donate to the cause, and she watched impassively as one of the rescued vampires gently pressed the man backward, until he was lying flat. In an almost intimate gesture, he cradled the man’s arm against his chest a moment, then leaned in to whisper something in his ear and lay a soft kiss on both of his cheeks. 

 

She didn’t know what was said, but the firefighter nodded in agreement and held his arm aloft. She turned back to Dr. Lillian.

 

“It looks like my job’s not over yet. I’m going over there to donate as well.”

 

************************************************************************

 

Anita stood alone, keeping herself back as she watched Evariste feed off of the willing fireman. He was but one of a potential many, and the success of this would mean life or death for the remaining comatose vampires.

 

And things weren’t going to badly at all, based on the relative happiness of the young guy in question. And the crowd around them, human and lycanthrope both, seemed to be watching the proceeding with interested, if not avaricious, eyes.

 

The ever present voice of Jean-Claude floated through her brain, the timbre cradling her neck as it sent shivers down her shoulders and back. ‘ _You doubted me, Ma Petite? It only takes one to spark the competitiveness of men and the tender nurturing of women_.’

 

Anita pushed off his presence as she gagged at the platitude. ‘ _So much for the happy feeling. Spare me, Jean-Claude. I’ll admit, you’ll get your donors, but don’t turn everything around to sex or battle_.’

 

A delighted warmth pushed past her shields and objections. ‘ _But it so invariably proves to be true, Anita. Sex, emotion and power. Very little else has motivated man throughout the centuries,/I >.’_

_She shot her burst of irritation to him through the marks. ‘ _I said you’d get your volunteers. I’m not arguing that, as you’ll notice. The question is, will it be enough? And when are you going to break it to the others that you need them to deep throat your wounded vampires as conduits for your power_?’_

_Anita could feel his attention drift away. Curious, she drew back from their link and finally noticed the hubbub amongst the pack. _Ah, Jason and the others_! _

_She watched his retreating back, and only her iron will kept her from following. She was fairly sure Marianne’s prophesy had been fulfilled when Richard had embraced his soul, but on the off chance sticking her nose in it would tempt the fates, she hung back. Besides, both Richard and Jean-Claude were heading over. That was way too many dominants for all the little Indians assembled._

_Jean-Claude’s voice drifted through her thoughts. _‘Soon, Ma petite. Soon. But first, my Pomme awaits.’__

__


	28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

Katie crawled out of the wreckage, blinded by the rescue klieg lights, dazed and more than a little intimidated by the pack of werewolves that were apparently waiting in rapt anticipation for their arrival. She had little warning before she was deluged in a tsunami of fur, a multitude of wet noses and warm tongues that besieged her as they swarmed over her in delight and triumph at their appearance.

 

She felt a strong hand on her arm, pulling her into his embrace and guiding her to safety. Micah. The man was being true to his word, twirling her away to an empty area, making sure she was secure and well before wading back in to see to Jason. It was an abrupt change; one minute mobbed like a celebrity, the next standing by herself, her arms huddled around her for warmth, not a soul near her. She sniffed back tears. As much as she had bitched about the wet kisses, and had batted off the exuberant greetings, she almost felt bereft at being alone. A little frightened and unsure of herself. Like no one cared.

 

Until she head a delighted, relieved shout of “Katie girl!” and saw her man barreling towards her, his face wreathed in absolute joy. Zee was oblivious to anything else going on, focused solely on her as he came running across the lot. She couldn’t stop herself. Breaking out in a joyful smile, her heart pounding in delight, she began limping towards him as well.

 

It seemed like forever, but in only seconds Zee ploughed into her, encircling her in a blood stopping bear hug, burying his face in her neck as he tried to do the physically impossible task of absorbing her into his body.

 

“I thought I’d lost you, I’d thought I’d lost you,” he chanted in her ear, his tears soaking a wet warmth into her neck as he stroked her back. He wanted, no needed, the touch of her body to satisfy himself that she was truly there and alive.

 

She cradled the sides of his head in her hands. “Not a chance, Zee,’ she laugh cried, her thumbs caressing his cheekbones, wiping away the wetness. “I’m too tough to let a little explosion do me in.” He shook his head ruefully, and pulled her to his chest once again.

 

God, she loved this. And she’d come so close to losing it. And to think only moments before she’d been feeling all alone. A sad bundle caught her attention. Byron, she thought guiltily. His broken body lay apart, his only company the two child vamps who had dragged him to safety, and they were a distance apart, conversing quietly amongst themselves. Jean-Claude was off with the wolves, cooing over Jason. Her savior, her friend, was discarded off by himself, forgotten by everyone. Even her. Shoving her fist against her mouth she began to cry in earnest. A frustrated, frightened sobbing that had Zerbrowski in a renewed panic.

 

Zee pushed back, alarmed. “Katie, what is it? Are you hurt? Do I need to get you a paramedic?”

 

She hiccupped as she pointed, trying to compose herself to explain. “I’m none the worse for wear. And Micah swore to me Jason would be OK, but Byron isn’t moving Zee,” she sobbed, clutching at his jacket as she wiped her nose in a very unladylike action. “Why isn’t he moving? He can’t die, he just can’t. He saved me, and let himself be crushed. Please don’t let him die,” she implored, tears streaming down her face.

 

Bewildered, Zerbrowski searched his pockets for a handkerchief. “Shush, Katie girl, you aren’t making any sense! How did he save you, and why do you think he’s going to bite the big one?”

 

Katie drew a few shaky breaths until she was sure she could talk coherently once again. It was embarrassing, really; she held it together through an explosion, being trapped with a werewolf, and getting rescued by a half naked wereleopard and a couple of vampires. And now that she’s safe she goes all female? She grabbed her husband's hands in her own. “He made sure he kept me safe after the explosion, and he got trapped because of it. Fuck it all, Zee, no one cares about Byron! The bratty kiddie vamps wanted to leave him there, Micah was about to until we came back to help, and now he’s dragged off to the side like a three legged horse waiting to be shot.” She tugged against his hands, pulling him in the direction of her friend. “I won’t let him be ignored.”

 

Zerbrowski soothed her as best he could. “He’s not being ignored, love. See? Jean-Claude has the wolves straightened out and is heading over.”

 

Katie wiped her face on his chest, drying her tears in his shirt. “I’m going over too, Zee. Maybe I can help. Maybe he’ll need blood or something.”

 

Zerbrowski’s eyes widened in shock. “Not a chance, wife! I didn’t finally get to hold you safe just to see you in jeopardy again. Come on; I know they need donors, and if anyone’s going to be opening a vein for Byron, it’s going to be me. And if he saved your life, that’s a damn small price to pay, and doesn’t near make us even.”

 

************************************************************************

 

“What an absolute cluster fuck,” Merle groused disgustedly to himself, shaking his head in irritation as he laid his helmet on the back of his Harley and began his search for Micah. What had greeted him when he rode in was an organized bedlam of police, paramedics, fire engines, and a burning building. He had planned to grab the first person and shake a status report out of them, but he conceded to himself that it wasn’t necessary. He didn’t need anyone to fill him in; his acute senses were telling him all the story he needed to know. And a nightmare of a story it was, too.

 

Micah wasn’t exaggerating when he called; he definitely needed him here. He should have been here from the start. Grey eyes narrowed, his lean frame taut with anger, he prowled the area, nose twitching as he searched for any sign of his charges. For about the hundredth time he cursed himself for his stupidity. Damn it, what was he thinking slumming at Guilty Pleasures when his duty was to be here with his Alpha? Just because he hated the frills and haughtiness of the vampires and their high society clubs?

 

Conversation lulled whenever he neared. On a happy day, a charitable description of him would be an intimidating, fringes of society type guy. On a pissed off day, Merle was enough to make the toughest guy’s balls shrivel up and run for safety. And today was definitely a pissed off day. It wasn’t so much his biker look, with the Harley leathers and overly long grey streaked hair. It wasn’t even his moustache and Vandyke beard. It was his whole bad ass presence, the “get the hell out of my way I own the world” vibe that he probably possessed his whole existence. An aura that became magnified to a wet your pants level when he was infected with lycanthropy. 

 

A good mood Merle would have average Joe’s crossing the street to avoid him. An angry Merle would have the same people crossing the street and running in the opposite direction. And pissed off was even an unfair description of his mood this night. Guilt will do that to a man.

 

So it was a positively homicidal Merle that stalked through the parking lot, searching for his Nimir-Raj and Nimir-Ra. Threatening enough that cops gave him the ‘eye’, and laid precautionary hands on the butt handles of their revolvers as he passed. The crowd, regardless of flavor, literally parted like the red sea for him, creating a wide berth for his passage and desperately avoiding eye contact. The humans didn’t understand why; they only knew atavistically that he represented a danger, and best be left alone. The lycanthropes knew exactly what they were dealing with; a pissed off enforcer looking to kick someone’s ass, and they scurried out of the way faster than the mundanes did.

 

‘I should have fucking been here,’ Merle bristled internally. ‘If something has happened… ‘ He stilled his thoughts as he scanned the area, knowing he’d relax only when he was assured of his leaders safety. Anita he spotted easily. She was in what looked to be a triage area, off with her vampire and the Ulfric, with Nathaniel hovering nearby as well. Micah should have been there with them, but was no where to be seen. His eyes skimmed the shifted wolves congregating by the wreckage for Micah, but caught sight of a familiar golden coat instead. Noah. Micah’s bodyguard for the evening. He’d shifted, a natural occurrence considering what had gone down tonight, but he should have been attached to Micah like white on rice. There was only one problem.

 

No Micah.

 

“NOAH!” he roared, and the easily seven foot leopard whirled around at the tone. The wolves melted away, wincing sympathetically at the leopard as Merle jogged over, his pale grey eyes blazing a frightening intensity. Noah flinched at the fury and power being pushed at him, and instinctively began to radiate compliant signals, canting his ears and bowing his head in an attempt to placate and appease the livid wereleopard.

 

Merle was having none of it, curling his lip and spitting angrily, “God damn it, where’s Micah? I talked to him, so I know he’d gotten out safely, but he’s no where to be seen. You were supposed to be guarding him!”

 

Noah didn’t even attempt to do a proper greeting, judging that his former leader would as soon rip his head off as allow him to scent mark his hand. He opted for the truth. “He went back into the wreckage to help get Jason and some others out. They’re trapped in a pretty confined space, and Micah was small enough to fit, and powerful enough to do some good.”

 

Merle could feel his gut spasm in fear at that news. This imbecile had stood aside while his Nimir-Raj deliberately put himself in harm’s way? For who? He grabbed a furred ear and yanked Noah’s head back. Noah hissed in pain, but gave no resistance. “You let him go back inside a burning building?” he questioned disbelievingly, staring up at the shifted man until Noah’s eyes rolled back compliantly.

 

“Merle, how could I have stopped him? It wasn’t like he asked me for permission…” he stammered in explanation.

 

Merle swore angrily, and backhanded the larger cat to the ground. “So help me, Noah, if any harm comes to him I’m skinning you alive and pinning your coat to Anita’s wall.”

 

Noah began to try to reply, when a sudden surge of excitement animated the pack. Whatever was happening, was happening at the entranceway where Micah had apparently gone into, and Merle was bound and determined to get in there and see. Shoving and snarling, he bullied his way through the distracted wall of wolves to the access way in time to watch three vampires crawl out of a narrow tunnel, two dragging an unconscious third. He didn’t understand what the excitement was, when his nostrils picked up the scent of his Nimir-raj. A liquid sense of relief washed through him. Micah was inside, alive, and he could sense that he was getting closer. No sooner had this thought registered when a few moments later, a disheveled woman crawled out, Micah close at her heals dragging an unconscious Jason.

 

The wolves howled triumphantly, and had it not been completely undignified to his cat, he would have joined them in their celebration. Instead, he stood disdainfully aside as they moved in to nose and smell their comatose pack mate, preferring to keep his attention on his leader. He watched Micah smile broadly, then quickly yank the unknown woman to safety, whispering in her ear and patting her arm before turning back to Jason and the wolves. From a distance, he looked fine, other than being scuffed up. Suddenly the obvious hit Merle like a lightening bolt, and he swore and shook his head in disgust as he grabbed a blanket from one of the EMS guys. He jogged over to his Nimir-Raj, discreetly taking a closer look for any injuries before he arrived.

 

Micah spotted him approaching, and his face crinkled into a relieved smile at the sight of his second. “Good to see you Merle! You always show up just when I need you. It has to be a gift. Is the rest of the pard here as well?”

 

Merle shrugged as he shook out the throw. “Everyone who could come is here. Caleb’s still out visiting his family, and Gina left for New York unexpectedly this morning. You mind telling me what the hell you were thinking of putting yourself in danger like that?” He quickly wrapped the blanket around the smaller man’s waist, ignoring the protesting sounds of disappointment from the shifted female weres. “And why the hell are you running around in your skivvies?”

 

Micah turned his ever calm eyes to his second, and cocked an eyebrow at the scolding tone he was hearing. “I was thinking that some friends and innocents were in danger, and that I could help. I was thinking that as an Alpha, a Nimir-Raj, it’s my job to protect the weaker, an obligation, no matter the cost. I’m also thinking, Merle, that you’re overstepping yourself by aggressively questioning me like that.”

 

They had a battle of wills, locking eyes, Micah’s commanding acquiescence, Merle’s demanding caution. The standoff lasted only briefly. Merle broke first, sighing as he dropped his gaze and broke eye contact. “Damn it, Micah, you could have been killed. Couldn’t anyone else go in? And you still haven’t explained the underwear thing!”

 

Micah’s power reined in, satisfied, and he answered reasonably, “No one else was the right size, unless you count Nathaniel, and a poor leader I’d be, ordering a clan member to do something I wasn’t willing to do myself. Besides, I couldn’t very well endanger Anita by putting him in harms way. And the underwear? I gave my pants to Jason so he wouldn’t get torn up as I dragged him out. It was the least I could do.” He stopped and frowned as something caught his attention. Noah was crawling over, a head down, sinewy scuttle that practically begged for forgiveness.

 

Micah’s eyes narrowed, his pupils elongating to feline as his power spiked once again, this time in cold temper. “Merle, I’m only going to ask this once and you’d better give me an honest answer. Why is Noah bleeding?”

 

Merle rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Because of me. I may have taken a bit of temper out on him for his lack of bodyguard skills,” he argued defensively. “He should never have let you do that.”

 

Micah kept his gaze on his third, his voice tightly controlled. “Do you think he could have stopped me, Merle? Do you think you could have?”

 

Damn the man for his overdeveloped sense of right and wrong. Merle kept his face down and his voice carefully neutral as he answered simply, “No, Nimir-Raj.”

 

“Then apologize to him. Make amends, and gather the pard. They’re going to need a lot of donors, and I don’t know how many wolves or humans are going to step up to the plate.”

 

************************************************************************

 

Nat paced outside the ring of shifted wolves, sporadically trying to push his way through to Jason but having absolutely no success in the effort. Even if he shifted, he doubted he would have the power or authority to bluff his way past the pack. Thronnos Rokke needed to assure themselves of their lost cub’s presence and health before they would even consider allowing an outsider to enter. Nathaniel had no delusions. He may be a brother lycanthrope, but he was pard. And he was no Alpha to command respect or wield authority. Anita’s pomme, Jean-Claude’s stripper, it didn’t matter. He was not considered a part of this happy gathering. No matter his relationship with Jason. In their eyes he was less then Omega, and would have to wait his turn.

 

But his heart ached to see his friend. He’d waited patiently, staying with Anita obediently as Micah had commanded, and now that Jason was free he was once again thwarted in his reunion. Fists clenched in frustration, he was about to attempt another push through when salvation appeared in the form of a vampire, and the Ulfric. Jean-Claude swept into view, Richard close at his heels, literally gliding in on power and resolve. Magically, the impenetrable wall of wolves surrounding Jason parted, carefully allowing the master vampire and their king entry. They never gave it a second thought. The big men showed up, and everyone simply melted out of his way, as proper supplicants should.

 

While Richard commanded obeisance, Jean-Claude’s presence, while no less dominating, was almost intoxicating to the wolves. The shifted weres allowed just enough room so that they would have the chance to rub against him, fur to body, an inexplicable desire to touch and be touched that was Jean-Claude’s mastery of his animals to call. Nathaniel tucked in close behind and simply rode his coat tails into his friend.

 

Jean-Claude stopped, going still as he reached the supine body of Jason. Nathaniel, for all his preternatural reflexes and senses, nearly collided with him, he was so intent on getting to his companion. It frightened him, Jean-Claude’s lack of expression or animation, and fearing the worst he peered around the larger man.

 

And promptly forgot himself, as he saw Jason lying there, pale and unresponsive. Forgot his place and his standing, and pushed past the stronger preternaturals, to kneel by his friend’s side. He nosed along Jason’s neck, relieved to smell the life in the young man’s body, practically feeling the pulse of his heart beat strongly through his carotid. Heady with his scent, he closed his eyes and nuzzled his face under Jason’s chin. He was fine; out of it because of a shift, but uninjured from his ordeal and likely to be his edgy, smart ass self once more in a scant few hours. He lay there in quiet reverie for far too short a time before he felt strong hands descend on his shoulders. He snarled softly at the intrusion, his lavender eyes taking on a smoky blue cast, when his instincts registered who had interrupted, and his beast quivered with a momentary thrill of fear when he realized it was Richard towering over him. His spontaneous bit of defiance was probably going to cost dear. The Alpha wolf still had little liking for him, even though their relationship had improved to cordial, and he cringed expecting a blow for his temerity.

 

None came. By rights, he should have been punished for his ill conceived challenge, but the Ulfric was in a magnanimous mood, opting to only gently move the subordinate man aside instead of giving in to the will of his animal and pummeling him for his audacity. He had a more important concern at the moment, sniffing his freed wolf and running his hands across his body to satisfy himself of Jason’s health and well being. He spoke quietly to the slumbering man. “Got out of another one, didn’t you Jason? You should have belonged to Micah. You’ve got nine lives like a cat, even if you are tearing through them.”

 

Nathaniel smiled at the fondness he could hear in the Ulfric’s voice. But even Richard’s reunion was shortlived. A silky voice commanded, “Mon Ami, step aside, please. I need to see to my pomme.”

 

Nathaniel scuttled back, expecting at least a token show of wills. Surprisingly, Richard just smiled knowingly and moved aside as asked, motioning the Master Vampire forward. Jean-Claude folded elegantly next to the comatose werewolf, closing his eyes and resting a hand on the boys chest, savoring the feel of his strong heartbeat and breaths. He stayed motionless like that for almost a full minute, before leaning down and enveloping the young man in his arms. He pulled Jason in close, rubbing his check against his soft, baby fine hair, wrinkling his nose at the noxious scent of smoke and frightened wolf.

 

But he could not afford the luxury of a protracted reunion. There were others to save. After a few moments he broke his reverie, and called out to one of his children. 

 

“Faust! Attend me. I wish you to convey Jason to the Circus, and lay him in my chambers. See him bathed, and to his general comfort, and guard him with your life. If any harm befalls him there, I will behead you with my bare hands.”

 

Faust bowed obsequiously, careful to hide the amusement in his copper eyes. The odds of anything happening to the master’s Pomme de Sang in the bowels of his private lair were slim, and the slight vampire had little plans of allowing any injury befall Jason in his journey there.

 

“I will see it done, Master. I will not fail you.”

 

************************************************************************

 

Richard watched carefully as Faust cradled Jason in his arms and lofted lazily into the night sky. Pomme de Sang or not, Jason was his pack wolf, his responsibility, and more importantly, his friend. Even if he hadn’t been a stellar one of late. He was going to check on Jason at the Circus before this whole fiasco was put to rest. And God help the burgundy haired blood sucker if he found a single scratch on the boy.

 

Jean-Claude watched as well, a slightly wistful and soft expression on his face. Richard tried not to smile too broadly; for all the vampire’s power and haughtiness, he had a sentimental, warm streak to him, especially when it came to his Pomme de Sang. A trait he just recently had opened his eyes long enough to discover.

 

Sensing his scrutiny, Jean-Claude turned towards him, and schooled his face to a nonchalant impassiveness. Nice try, Jean-Claude, Richard thought. But the truth’s out. You care for Jason like a son.

 

Jean-Claude inclined his head benevolently, careful to cultivate an air of regal separation. “My wolf, I thank you and your people for their help and generosity. If any of you can do more, can assist in healing my vampires, I would see you richly rewarded.”

 

A soft voice spoke up from the narrow tunnel way. “We didn’t do it for money.” 

 

Patrick leaned, exhausted and filthy, against the partially collapsed wall. He looked spent, but his voice still managed a bit of insult. “We did it because it was the right thing to do, because we had friends inside, and because our Ulfric asked us for our help. If I thought I could do more, I would, but I just don’t know that I have it in me to get fed off as well. But please don’t imply that we did this for some sort of monetary gain. None of us deserve that.”

 

“And for a second time my jaded expectations are exceeded this night,” Jean-Claude whispered quietly. Sharp ears still pricked up at the surprise in his voice.

 

“Why so shocked, Jean-Claude?” Richard questioned, leaning his taller wolf frame down to the vampire’s ear. “Just because the fireman and Patrick stood by their beliefs? Hell, I’ve learned a lot myself tonight. But good people are good people, regardless of the circumstances. You’ve been hanging around power mad perverts for much too long in your centuries of life.”

 

“I stand corrected and chastised, my wolf, and gladly so,” Jean-Claude answered. “Because, Richard, that is what keeps us from going mad. The deliciousness of being proven wrong and learning something new.” He turned back to the lanky grey wolf. “You are a prize, Mon Ami, and I owe you a debt of honor and an apology.” Jean-Claude bowed his head, his hand held over his heart. “I did not intend to denigrate your motivations. I merely wished to appropriately reward efforts that truly are above what any reasonable being could expect. Please accept my apologies. All of you. My wolves or not, connection or not, you did not have to assist.”

 

Another voice, feminine and hesitant, spoke up from the anonymity of the crowd. “But what about us, Ulfric? I came, and I obeyed, but what happens to me, to us all, now?” The voice became a figure as a petite wolf daintily stepped into view from the depths of the pack. “We can’t drive home like this, and a lot of us are just out of the closet now. And I hunger; I need to feed. I need to…” she stopped, her nostrils dilated, her long lashes blinking spasmodically over her deep brown eyes, clawed hands held forward in supplication and flexing with tension.

 

Richard turned to Jean-Claude, a bit of a challenge in his eye as he cocked his huge wolf head at the vampire. “She has a point, Jean-Claude. The weaker, non-alphas are going to need flesh, and are going to need a safe haven to sleep off the change. I can’t compromise the Lupanar; there are too many prying eyes here. Eyes we don’t trust.”

 

“And they shall have it, at the Circus. Their needs will be provided for, I will see to it. And I am sure the local authorities, or at least Monsieur Zerbrowski, would be willing to provide transportation for them. But it will be done. I see to those who look to me for protection, and those to whom I owe a debt of honor. Byron is now my priority; I must collect him and take him to the others for healing. Then let us seek out Ma Petite, Richard. Time is short, and there is much to accomplish. She will assist in engaging aid for your wolves. And we must gather the willing and heal my vampires. Now. Before the sun makes our decisions for us.” 

 

Jean-Claude turned back briefly before heading back to the medical tent and his people. “Patrick. You will come see me, later, when all this is settled and life has gone back to what we generally can accept as normal. You have shown me much, this night, jeune loup. I wish Theatre de Sang rebuilt, to honor those who have fallen and to show that I will not be intimidated. And I would be honored if you would do the work for me.”


	29. Chapter Twenty-Nine

“Finally! One safe, only a few dozen more to go,” Anita breathed in a low voice, rubbing her burning eyes tiredly in a vain attempt to banish the exhaustion that was threatening to overwhelm her. Irritated, she closed them completely and indulged in a moment of deep breathing. This was unacceptable. She’d had more tension and exertion on an execution. There was no excuse for it tonight when all she’d done was stay out of the way. At least the sight of Faust retreating into the early morning sky with Jason was a welcome one. Not that she had harbored any doubts as to the boy’s ultimate safety. The little rogue always came out smelling like a rose, and he had to be fine if Jean-Claude was scooting him off to safety in an underling’s care. 

 

And speak of the devil. She opened her eyes in time to see Jean-Claude hurrying towards her, Byron’s broken and limp body cradled in his arms. Richard stalked close to Jean-Claude’s side, still imposing in his wolf form. Her heart clenched at the sight, and she lingered a bit on his tall, honey gold frame. There was a rightness about him in this form, a complete air of command and confidence. Like nature had never intended his conversion to be an accident of fate, but an undeniable natural selection. A random quote floated through her tired brain; There are no mistakes, no coincidences. All events are blessings given to us to learn from. 

 

It was an impressive sight all around, actually. A packed entourage of wolves and other assorted humans and lycanthropes fanned out behind Jean-Claude, for all the world like he was a preternatural Pied Piper. She smiled at the allegory; all he needed was a flute and a sprightly dance, and the picture would be complete. Well, that and a few willing wererats. It really wasn’t the time for frivolous thought, but damn, it was funny. 

 

But she had yet to spot her cats. 

 

“Hurry it up, guys. Time to end this so we can all go home,” she mumbled as she searched the pack for Micah and Nathaniel. A low, feminine wolf whistle caught Anita’s ear. 

 

“Now if that isn’t one fine looking piece of man,” crooned a tall woman as she fanned her face in an elaborate gesture of southern sexual heat. She was Thronnos Rokke, and a late arrival, so was unshifted and assisting Lillian. “Lickable pecs, taut abdomen, weight lifter’s arms, and those legs….” 

 

Anita turned further to the side to see who she was talking about, and her heart began to pound as her brain and hormones registered who the woman was talking about. Damn, but her mind was inappropriately in the gutter at the moment, considering the circumstances. Sharper eyes than hers had spotted Micah was walking towards her, Merle stomping close to his side and Nathaniel scurrying a little further behind. 

 

An involuntary warmth flushed her cheeks, and other feminine areas of her anatomy. “Oh yeah, one fine specimen,” she said, her leopard purring at the sight of her Nimir-Raj’s lean, sweaty frame tracking authoritatively towards her. 

 

It was an entirely different smile that curved her lips as she watched Micah approach, looking like he was coming from a tropical beach instead of a rescue. It was a predator’s smile, a hunter’s appreciation for a mate. For some inexplicable reason his pants were gone, and only a blanket, slung low on his hips and loosely encircling his waist, was keeping him up to local decency standards. She knew there had to be a good explanation for his near nakedness; this was Micah, after all. Jason would regale her with an outlandish tale of debauchery and antics. Nathaniel would sheepishly admit to succumbing to his darker desires. But Micah? With Micah, there would be a perfectly reasonable explanation for his appearance, delivered in his normal calm, unabashed, style. 

 

And she couldn’t wait to hear it. Whatever it was, it had to be an impressive tale, but regardless of the story she was pretty sure she didn’t care what the reason was, since it gave her one of her few pleasures of the night. 

 

As soon as he reached earshot, she folded her arms across her stomach, and in a mock severe voice called out, “A bit chilly to be going completely without clothes, isn’t it Micah Callahan? Not that I’m not enjoying the view, mind you. Just a little oddly out of place, don’t you think?” 

 

Micah grinned at her comment, his chartreuse eyes smoldering as he picked up her telltale scent of attraction. “You exaggerate, Anita!” he called back. “I’m not completely without. I have my underwear.” 

 

Anita laughed and bowed apologetically. “I stand corrected, then, Nimir-Raj. Underwear makes it perfectly acceptable, albeit a little revealing and cold. So what’s the explanation for the blanket then?” 

 

“He is,” Micah said, jerking his head back at his scowling second. He judiciously ignored the muffled giggles of Nathaniel. “Merle was ever so slightly annoyed at my rescue of Jason and the others, and even more peeved at my near naked appearance. He kindly provided the blanket to protect my honor.” 

 

Anita let out a snort as she overhead the young wolf who had been crooning over Micah’s approach mutter “Spoilsport,” at that explanation. Apparently Merle heard as well, because he stiffened and hissed at the twenty-something woman in irritation.

 

A challenge which did not go unnoticed by the brunette. “Geez, I was only stating the obvious. Take a chill pill or get laid or something,” she huffed indignantly as she opted for a judicious retreat to Lillian’s side. 

 

Agreed, Anita opined, but let the older wereleopard’s testosterone posturing go for the moment. Merle was entitled; he was battling his instincts here, instincts which told him to get his pard and leader to safety, the wolves and vampires be damned. She focused on a more pleasant male instead. Her male. 

 

She let her gaze linger on his runner’s legs, admiring the muscular calves and almost total lack of body fat. Teasingly, she answered, “A noble gesture on Merle’s part, but it still doesn’t explain your lack of pants. The shirt and jacket you shucked before you went in, but what happened to the slacks?” 

 

Micah tucked the blanket a little more securely around his waist, and took her into his arms, nosing her neck briefly before answering quietly, “I sacrificed them in order to protect Jason’s buck naked ass and his honor.” 

 

Anita pushed herself back and furrowed her brow in an exaggerated show of confusion. “Jason has honor, especially when it comes to showing off his naked form?” 

 

Micah laughed softly and shrugged. “Apparently. He was nude and helpless when he shifted, and I didn’t want to hurt him more than necessary dragging him out. And he was a little put out about Katie and the whole world seeing his privates, so to speak. Katie I couldn’t help; the rest of St Louis I could.” He smiled warmly into her eye. “Of course, he doesn’t know that I covered him up. It was easier to let him shift and do it afterwards. He’s much quieter comatose.” 

 

“Now that was evil. Useful, and probably fun, but evil.” She pulled him back into her arms and kissed him soundly, deeply, enjoying his taste and the fact that he was back out and in one uninjured piece. He pushed back and looked at her questioningly. 

 

“Well done, Micah,” she answered simply, running her hands reassuringly down his back, lingering briefly on his ass before returning to rest on his shoulders. It wasn’t the time or the place, she knew. Just as she knew he appreciated the intimacy, the physical show of her affection. 

 

Green eyes sparkled into her own as he read her thoughts, then sobered abruptly. “Only half done, Anita. We got everyone out, now we have to make sure everyone is safe and secure.” 

 

Anita swallowed guiltily. There was no time for this playfulness, no matter how fleetingly enjoyable it had been. “I know, Micah,” she answered, frustration again building inside her. In more ways then one. “I know. The night’s not over yet. Will the pard help?” 

 

“I already told Merle to get them gathered up. Which he should be doing right now, instead of shadowing me like a nanny.” He gave a pointed look at the older man. For a moment Anita expected an argument, but Merle wisely swallowed down a snarl and just turned away to obey. 

 

Micah pulled her closer to his warmth. “We’ll do our part, don’t worry.” 

 

Anita’s heart warmed. Practical, reliable Micah. “Then let’s get over to Jean-Claude and get whatever plan he has in motion.”

 

************************************************************************

 

“Make way, s'il vous plaît,” Jean-Claude commanded gently as he placed Byron down besides the others. He could feel his fangs lengthen with his anger, and fought the instinct. Too many of his vampires lay stretched out, wounded and helpless. Too many, and left like broken, discarded toys for too long. Evariste, the only one to be healed from the wreckage, kneeled beside the charred and broken form of an angel. His liquid brown eyes stared up into his own. 

 

“Morning approaches, mon seigneur,” he spoke hesitantly, sensing the anger radiating from his master. He did not want to appear to be questioning Jean-Claude, but he was unable to sit by quietly and watch his companions wither or burn. 

 

“I am well aware of the urgency, Evariste,” Jean-Claude admonished gently. “I will see to my kiss, fear not. There is still ample time.” 

 

Evariste bowed his head in acquiescence, and returned to softly stroking the fire crinkled hair of the vampire before him. “I meant no disrespect, Jean-Claude. I fear for my troupe, as any true friend would. And Alain, he is not a strong vampire.” 

 

Jean-Claude patted Evariste’s shoulder comfortingly. “None taken, Mon Ami. I share your anxiety. But it will be done,” he said, his voice ringing commandingly in the still night air. “On my word, as sourdre de sang and a man of honor.” 

 

A shiver went through all those with even a modicum of preternatural or psychic power at his pronouncement. The wolves all began a low whine, and circled around the vampire, their focus solely on his form. Zerbrowski and Dougherty both shivered, unconsciously rubbing the goosebumps that riddled their arms. Both had the same internal thought at the cold feeling that ghosted across their spines; ‘Someone just walked over my grave.’ 

 

Jean-Claude basked in the authority he flung out. There was no need to call his Triumvirate to him; they came unbidden to silent command. Richard ghosted his back, his amber eyes glistening with the power his declaration had coaxed to the surface. Anita was already on her way over, Micah and her own Pomme in attendance. The players were soon to be all in place; the only thing remaining was to choose the music and begin the dance.

 

Anita, ever the subtle one, got straight to the point as she arrived. “Can you put a lid on the theatrics, Jean-Claude? You’re giving everyone the heebie-jeebies. What’s the plan? Are we all helping to push power into the wounded so they can feed? Can we do that?” 

 

Only the Executioner would dare. He smiled indulgently, and reined in the energy he had allowed to slither out and coat the area. His point was made. “I do not know for certain, Ma Petite. We can only try. If not, it will be difficult for me to push enough strength into so many unaided.” He waved a desultory hand at the sad rows of cots. “That is not the pressing concern, Ma Petite. Do we have sufficient blood to make the effort worthwhile?” 

 

Micah elbowed forward, insinuating himself between Anita and the vampire, and spoke before Anita could answer. “You have the pard; that’s eight of us, assuming Noah is strong enough after shifting back to feed. Merle’s gathering them as we speak. The Blooddrinkers Clan acknowledges the debt it owes to the vampires, and will do it’s part.” He turned and looked expectantly at the Ulfric of the wolves. 

 

Richard nodded. “The pack’s shifted, and pretty much all of them can’t shift back and be of any use. But there’s about four of us who were late arrivals I can talk to. I wouldn’t incapacitate the Rodere, though; we’ll still need some muscle in place.” 

 

Jean-Claude paused thoughtfully at that, his eyelids lowering in concentration as he debated the wisdom of that advice. The wererats would be a powerful source of sustenance, but Richard was right; they were best used elsewhere. 

 

“Agreed, Mon Loup. That would leave us ridiculously unprotected. Ma Petite?” 

 

“There looks to be about ten of the firemen and paramedics willing to help out as well. They’re the ones hovering over Fitzgerald there,” she replied, a strong authoritative ring to her voice. If felt good to be involved again. “That’s eighteen; we only need about seven more.” 

 

A forgotten voice spoke up. Zerbrowski had been standing on the fringes, attentively listening to the conversation. Up until that point, he’d been content to cradle Katie in his arms and savor her warmness and utter aliveness, to satisfy his instinct to protect her and keep her safe. But now he felt the need to interrupt. “Make no mistake, though, Byron is mine. I couldn’t live with myself if I just stood back and let someone else feed him back to health. I’ll help finish up the volunteers with my men, but I owe that vampire more than I can ever pay up on. No one opens a vein for him but me,” he said forcefully. 

 

Jean-Claude nodded respectfully, impressed by the man’s vehemence. “Agreed. But there’s something else equally important we must have, Monsieur Zerbrowski. All my wolves require transportation to a safe haven. Discretely. Many of them have, how to say, needs to take care of, and when they shift they’re going to be as helpless as Jason. They cannot drive in their current form, so their automobiles are rendered useless. Can you assist there as well?” 

 

Zerbrowski nodded immediately. That would be the easiest crisis he had to solve this night. “Not a problem. I can commandeer some prisoner transport buses. DOC is only about a mile and a half away from here. ETA would be about a half hour if I placed a call now.” 

 

The pack, mercurial in it’s moods, went from an animated swaying around Jean-Claude’s power to utter stillness. Patrick shuddered and spoke for them, his fear overriding his innate need to remain unseen. “No! No bars. We’d be trapped; how would we know you weren’t taking us all to a shifter roach motel?” 

 

Zerbrowski’s hand stilled on Katie as he processed the wolf’s objection. “Shifter Roach Motel? What the hell are you talking about?” 

 

The night air was thick with tension from the wolves; a cloying, musky smell that had the Lieutenant on alert. He surreptitiously placed himself in front of Katie as Richard leaned in and answered for his wolf. “Shifter Roach Motel. You know, like the commercial? Shifters go in but never get out? They’re worried you’ll railroad them into lycanthrope jail and lock them away in cages for the rest of their lives.” 

 

Son of a bitch, they’re never going to learn to trust anyone! Zerbrowski flushed in anger, righteously indignant that anyone would think he’d be so underhanded and dishonorable. “Are you kidding me? That’s just downright insulting. I would never do that. Never. Not to Jason, and not to any one of you. Because you don’t deserve it, any more than the poor bastards they used to put in insane asylums out of ignorance.” He took a deep breath and reined in his temper. They had just cause for their suspicions. Critter laws weren’t a figment of their imaginations. “More importantly, you have my word of honor that you would be taken to a safe place of your choosing.” 

 

Micah disengaged himself from Anita and stepped forward authoritatively. “Patrick, look at me.” The lanky wolf hunched and resisted eye contact, acknowledging Micah’s alpha status, even though he wasn’t Lukoi. 

 

“Look at me,” Micah commanded, and Patrick reluctantly raised his eyes. “The coalition would never allow that to happen. We have each others backs. If you’re leery about trusting the authorities, then trust us. We’ll see you all safe.” 

 

Zerbrowski interjected again. “The fronts wouldn’t be locked, and you can use the drivers of your choice. I know it’s your lives. Trust me., like I trusted you with my wife’s.” 

 

Patrick nodded, and there was a pervasive feeling of relief that washed over the vicinity as all the werewolves relaxed at their dominant’s words. They’d done their parts, and there would be no playing of the cynical cliché ‘no good deed goes unpunished.’ Safety was close at hand.

 

“Good. All of you, follow me over to the main command center. I’ll have Smith arrange transport for you. Then let’s get the vampires healed so we can all go home.” 

 

************************************************************************

 

“Nothing more than a goddamn meeting of the minds over there,” Halligan grumbled to whoever would listen. “Wish the fuck they’d stop talking and starting doing already. I’m tired, and I needed a hot shower,” he complained. A long time military man before he became a firefighter, he wisely surmised it was an age old problem of ego. Too much talk to hear yourself speak, and not enough action to suit the situation. Darkness was burning here, and the longer they took, the more likely his people were going to get cold feet and bolt. 

 

“You say something, Chief?” Fitzgerald asked groggily from the ground. 

 

Halligan started, then knelt down lower to answer. He hadn’t thought the boy was awake enough to hear. “Nah, nothing important. You alright, son?” 

 

Fitzgerald gave a slow, lazy eye blink, and a heavy lidded stare. “Sure Chief. Right as rain. Why?” 

 

Halligan smirked. He’d seen the boy’s reaction to being fed on. Right as rain was an understatement. “Just checking to make sure. I want you to rest up and relax; you can put your arm down in a minute or two. Drink the juices after, and if you need me I’m over with the rest of the squad waiting to donate.” 

 

He waited until Fitzgerald nodded sleepily, then stood up from his crouch and made his way over to the rest of the human donors, huddled together uncomfortably around the rescue vehicle like a bunch of grade school kids at their first dance. 

 

“You guys look pathetic,” he chided as he shrugged out of his waterproof gear and tried to make himself cooler and more comfortable. Exhausted, he leaned against the side of ambulance with his men and the woman paramedic, and mentally counted who had stepped up to the plate. So few. Not all of his crew, just those who had volunteered to get fed off of like Fitzgerald had done. About ten, and mental arithmetic told him it wasn’t enough. It would leave a bitter taste in his mouth if they couldn’t save everyone just because people wouldn’t allow themselves to be used as food. That was a new thought for him, but he didn’t like leaving anyone behind, and liked it even less when they hauled out a survivor only to have them code after the rescue. 

 

At least they weren’t the only ones rolling up a sleeve and baring a vein. It looked like a bunch of other donors were assembled and ready; little cliques of people, separated by job, and whether or not you happened to be human. The cops were over by the command center tables. All the rescue workers were here, with the ambulance. The shifters were standing or crouched down next to the stretchers with the vampires. Just enough, maybe. 

 

What a night. It had been odd, seeing all the shifters running around in their animal form. Eerie and enlightening at the same time. He’d never seen a werewolf, except in pictures, and had only read about wereleopards. He had no clue what to expect, and was a little ashamed of the stereotypes he had figured they were. Most of them looked like any of his neighbors or friends. Hell, for all he knew, some of his neighbors and buddies were closeted lycanthropes. Just goes to show what ignorance gets you. 

 

And here they were, segregating themselves once again. What a broken record. “Looks like a bad prom, the way were all clinging to the people we know,” he barked good naturedly. The woman paramedic, Dougherty, laughed aloud, and most of his men smiled. “I think I’m underdressed then, if it’s a prom.,” Dougherty opined as she rubbed the dirt off of her hands. “And where’s my freaking flowers?” 

 

The fireman howled at that one, all offering to buy her ANY flowers she wanted for a date. It was a companionable noise, loud and comforting, and the shifters stared over at them, watching the interplay with sharp eyes, knowing somehow that they were being scrutinized and talked about. 

 

Patricia sobered up, and nodded in the direction of the weres. “Kind of defeats the idea of everyone working together here, doesn’t it?” she replied, stretching and stifling a yawn as she watched the lycanthropes watch her in return. “I’d say they were just more comfortable over there, but one or two of them don’t look real happy about the situation, do they?” 

 

Halligan looked over, and immediately picked up what she was referring to. He didn’t know how he’d missed it to begin with, but the blond woman who had been helping with the wounded was being cradled and rocked by a cadaverously thin man with canary yellow hair and rich brown eyes. She looked rebellious, a bit of a stubborn set to her lips as the tall man talked, or more accurately, quarreled, with her softly. He’d thought everyone had been volunteers, but from the way she was acting it seemed more forced than offered. 

 

He was about to respond back when one of his braver boys piped up, “Hell, Chief, you want to go over and ask one of them to dance, you have my permission. No chaperones here tonight!” the kid chortled, and ducked the swipe at his head Halligan shot his way. 

 

He chewed thoughtfully on his cigar. He was curious about the odd couple, and Dougherty had a point. He’d learned a lot tonight, and as more and more vampires and lycanthropes came out of the closet and into mainstream St. Louis, he was going to need to be comfortable with them and understand them if he was going to be able to do his job to the best of his abilities. And that meant talking to them, for Christ’s sake. He scanned the group. The big grey haired guy looked to be his age, if a bit rough, but definitely someone he wouldn’t feel out of place talking to. 

 

He spat a soggy piece of stogie onto the ground. “Hell, boy. Maybe I will,” he answered as he pushed himself away from the vehicle and ambled over. “Show you wet behind the ears punks how it’s done.” 

 

Yeah, I just wish someone would show ME how it’s done! He no sooner took his first step when he felt a chill, as though his every movement was being carefully scrutinized. It was the biker guy he was making his way over to talk to. Distant grey eyes locked onto him, examining every step he made. Halligan went slowly, warily, not wanting to spook the man but also not wanting to back down from his anti-social signals. Not sure what the hell I’m getting into here, pal, but I’ve picked my teeth with tougher than you in my day. Curious eyes followed him as the other shifters leaned away and allowed him free passage. He stopped in front of the man and held out his hand. 

 

To thin air. Resolute, he kept his hand out and tried to engage the man in conversation. “Looks like we’re all here for the same purpose. Name’s Halligan. You ever do this before? Is it going to be as easy as pie as it was for Fitzgerald?” he asked amiably.

 

There was an uncomfortable pause, then the shifter relented and took his hand in a cursory shake. “Merle. And yeah, this shouldn’t be much of a problem. Jean-Claude and the others will control things. Gonna be more of a matter getting them lively enough to bite.” 

 

The woman he’d seen arguing humphed disgustedly from a few feet away, only to be hushed by her companion. “Shush, Cherry. It’s not like that one time, and you know it. You’re just showing a bit of a phobia about it.” 

 

Logic was apparently the wrong tack to take, and he could just make out her furious whisper, “Don’t you patronize me, Zane, just because you’ve been talking to Jason and are full of second hand psych voodoo! It’s a legitimate concern and for YOUR information, you oversized stupid scarecrow, I’m more concerned about you than myself!” 

 

Halligan nodded. The woman was just nervous for her man, and Merle wasn’t exactly unfriendly. Just cautious. He guessed he had reason for that, and let his gruffness and rudeness slide. “Guess that makes us the bait then, huh? The blonde going to be ok?” 

 

“More like chum, to entice them to the surface,” he mused, in what Halligan took as his version of philosophical . “And Zane’ll settle her down. There’s no real big worry, and she volunteered like the rest of us.” He settled cool grey eyes on the man. “There any real reason you came over here? Or did you just want me to pat your head and tell you it was all going to be OK?” Merle asked, the words harsh but his tone amiable. 

 

Halligan laughed, refusing to rise to the bait. “Real social, aren’t you? If you gotta know, I felt stupid standing on the fringes when we’re all in this together. And maybe I just wanted to talk to someone who might have more experience in this than me or my men do. That a problem?” 

 

Merle shook his head. This was a guy he could deal with. “No problem Chief. Tell your boys it’ll be cake and pie, with a little titillation thrown in for good measure,” he answered cryptically.

 

“Oh, big words,” Halligan exaggerated as he rolled his eyes. “Guess you’re just a frat boy slumming with the biker look, huh?” Merle cocked his head and gave a lopsided grin and offered Halligan the universal sarcastic signal for ‘You’re number one.’ 

 

“Yeah, I know. I’m a barrel of laughs. Truth is Dougherty double dog dared me to come over and say hello to you. And a real man never turns down a double dog dare from a woman.” 

 

That did it . Merle out and out smiled at that comment, and clapped him on the back. “Careful how you throw around the word ‘dog’ over here, Halligan. We’re cats, and the wolves don’t much like it.” 

 

“Duly noted,” he answered with a grin. Movement with the grand high poobahs caught his eye. It looked like the meeting was adjourned and action might actually be imminent. 

 

“Don’t look now, but I think we’re up.”


	30. Chapter Thirty

“Vaya con Dios,” Anita spoke softly as she stared at the retreating backs of the shifted weres. They trustingly followed Zerbrowski and his wife over to the rest of his RPIT team, because the man had proven himself to them. She’d had a decent professional relationship with the Lieutenant, teetering on close friendship, for years now, but tonight had sealed the deal. The wolves looked to her as Lupa, regardless of her fire and ice relationship with their Ulfric, and she would never have let them go if she’d had doubts about their safety. The shifter community, even the vampires, had been selling Zerbrowski short. The man was an asset to have as an ally, and it was obvious he was a fair and willing one. St Louis preternatural living conditions and politics were definitely looking up. 

 

As she expected, Richard started to follow his wolves, only to have Jean-Claude place a restraining hand on his arm. “No, Mon Loup, your pack is safe with the Lieutenant. He will see to their requirements and can be trusted. I have more need of you here.” Richard stilled and relaxed under the vampire’s touch. “I know,” he agreed quietly, his amber eyes remaining locked on their forms. “But they’re my responsibility.” He lingered a moment longer, and then turned back to the others. Catching sight of Micah’s hand, he moved closer to Anita, not touching her with his claws but leaning his snout on the top of her head. “Let’s try this, Jean-Claude. The nights not a success unless everyone gets to go home.” 

 

He turned an Alpha’s gaze on Micah. “You might want to step back,” he cautioned. “You aren’t connected to either tri, and none of us know what’s going to go down when we all link together.” 

 

Wisely, Jean-Claude chose to ignore the competitive interplay. “Bon. All is in place. Let us begin.” Tendrils of power crept away from his body at his words, entwining around Anita and Richard. The Ulfric’s warning to Micah hadn’t been idle jealousy. As the power touched the Nimir-Raj, it pushed him inexorably away, recognizing that this one didn’t belong. Micah stepped back reluctantly, not wanting to leave Anita’s side, but unable to fight the force pressing against him. Tied as he was to his Nimir-Ra, he still was not Jean-Claude’s, not in the way his human servant and animal to call were. Soon only his fingertips touched her arm, and still the power pressed against him, resenting even that small contact, rejecting his presence. Defeated, he dropped his hand to his side and stepped back. As soon as his physical touch to Anita was severed, an almost inaudible snap hummed in the night air, and the link was complete. 

 

Eyes glittering, his features a study in control, Jean-Claude spoke. “Ma Petite, call your servant and your Pomme de Sang to your side. Let us see if you can be used to bridge our Triumvirates into one, so all can be employed as conduits of my power.” He gazed speculatively at the two of them. “I truly do not know if I can rejuvenate those bound to me through your Tri or Richard, as I did through you. We can but try.” 

 

“Nothing ventured,” Anita murmured, and sent out a silent command. Nathaniel was only a few scant steps away, and quickly shadowed her back. Damian, she could sense in her mind, was talking quietly to Violet. She shrugged and turned black eyes on her Master. “It’s not as though we have a lot of options, Jean-Claude We’re running out of time.” Vibrant red caught her eye as Damian strode up from where he’d be conversing with Violet. He stood obediently, expectantly. Nathaniel moved in closer to him, instinctively drawn by the metaphysical link that bound them both to Anita. 

 

“The gang’s all here, Jean-Claude.” 

 

He nodded, ignoring her flip observation. “Then we shall begin. All of you, drop your shields and open up to your Mistress. To me.” 

 

Damian and Nathaniel swayed as they exposed their souls freely to Anita. Richard, stronger and more experienced, simply closed his eyes and went still. A light wind began to swirl around them, a cool breeze that had anyone in the vicinity with an ounce of psychic or supernatural ability on edge. Raw power coalesced in the area, building and growing as the five of them shared what they individually had to offer. 

 

Eyes shuttered, arms loose at his sides, Jean-Claude splayed his fingers and leaned his head back, intoxicated with the force he could feel mounting around him. Building, swirling, and oh so close to his to command. ‘Come’, he coaxed, heady with power and craving more. ‘Open up and feel what I do. Share your strength with me and learn.’ 

 

Anita’s breathing deepened as she felt what Jean-Claude was experiencing. Oh my God, was her gasping thought as a trembling thrill resonated through her nerves, a thrill she knew was being echoed through the others as well. The feeling was incredible, like standing in a thousand graveyards at once. Such strength. Together as a whole, they exponentially exaggerated what they had as separate entities. Jean-Claude wanted to share this? ‘Gladly’, she shot back. ‘I’m happy to finally have something productive to do’, Anita thought before she shut her eyes again and concentrated on the task at hand. 

 

Dual sensations rippled across her flesh. From Jean-Claude and Damian she felt coolness, a chill like the cemeteries she felt so at home in. Theirs was a sympathetic power that resonated with her animating abilities, and she reached out to the two vampires, like she would to the dead that called to her. She pulled in a deep, focusing breath, expanding her lungs further and further until it felt as though her ribs would explode, then loosed the reins on her necromancy, allowing it to bask in the presence of the living dead, to coil around her like a familiar friend. Her power sought out the triumvirates, welcoming the vampires as siblings. 

 

It paused as it reached the lycanthropes, confused by their power. Paused and rejected their presence as alien. Richard and Nathaniel groaned when it touched them, the cold at odds with their beasts. Hurt for them, her own beast rose in sympathy and reached out to console their pain. Fur rubbed against fur, their metaphysical beasts craving the same touch their physical bodies desired. The heat and life of their lycanthropy burned at her, scalded her and fought with the cold death of the grave. I don’t think this is what Jean-Claude expected, she thought frantically as she fought to control the warring sensations. 

 

Desperate to bleed the power out, but not knowing how to do so without the aid of the dead, she reached out, caressing the lines of power that linked them all, and attempted to use her Trimates to filter and help the energy flow and be one. It was a heady feeling, vibrant, like holding the reins to a chariot of Arabians, the anthropomorphic power requiring the same soft touch and quiet hands a high strung equine would demand. All controlled by her, controlled and subordinate to Jean-Claude. The moist and earth bound warmth of the woods through Richard. The cool composed stillness of Damian, like a hidden pond in a crisp, dense forest. The compliance and willing acceptance of Nathaniel, the utter trust and devotion. 

 

All reined in at her fingertips and available to the Master of the City. 

 

Her eyes darkened with the energy she gathered, and she reveled in the feeling of supremacy that suffused her very being. This was a strength that could help Jean-Claude’s people, her people. All her frustrations of the evening, her feelings of uselessness, were finally at an end. She could do something to help, and by God she was going to make the most of it. 

 

Jean-Claude opened his eyes and stared down at the broken body of Byron. Mon Dieu, but this must be what the heat of the sun feels like before it incinerates you, he thought, his heart pounding as his body remembered life and attempted to utilize the strength it was being offered the only way it knew how. This, THIS is what he had hoped to achieve by binding the two of them to him. He knelt next to Byron, and silently commanded to the Triumvirates, ‘feel and learn,’ as he leaned in to give the battered vampire the kiss of life. His lips no sooner touched Byron’s, when Anita hammered the totality of their combined power into him, willing the strength to bring Byron to consciousness and healing. 

 

Agony ripped through his chest, his scream of pain muffled against Byron’s lips. Drowning with power, he barely had the presence of mind to shout through their heads, ‘Too much, Anita! It is too much to bear at once,’ before self-preservation had him shoving the excess into all of those sworn to him, desperate to dispel it from his body before it burned him alive. 

 

Byron heaved him away, back into the arms of Micah, his arms clawing the air blindly as his body regained function and sought out sustenance. The others of the wounded troupe, laid out in forlorn rows, arched painfully on their makeshift stretchers as the power yanked them back to reality. 

 

Anita sagged back into the furry arms of Richard, and only his muscle kept her from crumbling completely. “Oops,” she whispered sheepishly in the understatement of the century. “Guess we’re not going to have to try the kiss thing ourselves after all.” Richard nuzzled her neck, concerned at her collapse. Nathaniel nestled against her legs, his eyes rolled in the back of his head, his arms loosely encircling her calves as he sought the reassurance of his alpha. 

 

Jean-Claude slowed his racing mind. Merde, but this woman would be the death of him! And gladly so. “Moderation, Anita!” he chastised as he quieted his runaway pulse. “When will you ever learn that it is unnecessary to bludgeon every problem you encounter into submission?”

 

Anita opened her mouth to offer a retort, when a backlash of sensation from the vampires she was now linked overwhelmed her and trapped the words in her throat. A gnawing need clawed at her gut, as the awakening of the wounded ones triggered an insatiable hunger for blood, a hunger that was echoing back upon her and awakening a lust of her own. 

 

Dawning horror ripped through Jean-Claude. “Non, Ma Petite! You cannot! You must control the ardeur! It would be a disaster if it were unleashed now!” 

 

Eyes black with lust, she looked down on her Pomme de Sang. Nathaniel shivered at her feet, the sexual craving resonating through her body awakening a willing response in his own. Submissively keeping his eyes averted, he rubbed his face against her calf and languidly licked the back of her knee. 

 

She reached down and clutched twin handfuls of his hair. ‘Too late.’ 

 

************************************************************************

 

Merle looked over to where the fire Chief was pointing. Sure enough, it looked as though the talking was finally over, and some action was taking place. He shrugged, and leaned back comfortably against one of the guest’s oversized SUV’s. No sense getting all excited just yet. They’d come get them when it was time. “What’s your rush?” Merle laughed at Halligan, crossing his arms on his chest. “You that anxious for the experience?” 

 

Halligan grunted, and chewed the end of his cigar furiously. He had always hated inaction, just standing around doing nothing when there was a job to be done. Total Type A, his wife called him. Which was probably right, and also meant he was writing himself a one way ticket to a heart attack. What the hell, he was too old to be any different. A leopard can’t change it’s spots. He took out his soggy cigar and waved it in the general direction of the leaders. “Nah, just hate wasted time and posturing. And I don’t leave a job unfinished. Ever.” He looked over at the gathered leaders, and watched as the Head Vampire leaned down and delivered a kiss to the poor broken bastard they’d just dragged out. 

 

“He gonna do that to everyone of them?” he grumbled. He was way out of his element, wading through too many unknowns, and it wasn’t doing his nerves much good. 

 

Merle laughed at his discomfort. “Just think of it as CPR, same as you’d do for an uncon…” he started to answer, then shuddered and stilled. Blinking rapidly, he willed his eyes to stay their normal grey tone. “They’re doing something heavy, that’s for sure. My skin’s crawling,” Merle growled back, his voice deepening as the pinpricks on his skin coaxed his beast to the forefront. Looking for a diversion, and to keep the man calm in the face of this much supernatural activity, he asked, “Got another one of those cigars?” 

 

A little suspicious, Halligan wordlessly reached into his breast pocket and handed him his next to last one. The boys joked about his habit; called it a better rating system than alarms, the number of cigars he went through on a call. This was a banner one, all right. He’d almost run out. 

 

Merle sniffed along the tobacco, enjoying the scent and calming his leopard. He was an aberration for a shifter, he knew. With their heightened senses, most of them found smoking abhorrent. But it was one of his addictions that he still indulged and enjoyed. Reaching into his pocket, he drew out an old fashioned flip lighter, and delicately puffed a glowing head on the tip. Not near a Cuban, but still better than nothing. He exhaled luxuriously, and drew a disgusted look from Halligan. 

 

“You’re gonna die from that, you know that don’t you? It’s why I only chew on them. The wife would kill me otherwise.” 

 

Tilting his head back, he puffed out a series of rings. “That’s because you’re only human,” Merle answered smugly. “I can’t die from them. Can’t get lung cancer, can’t get cirrhosis of the liver. Can’t get sick. One of the perks of being a lycanthrope.” 

 

Now that just bites my ass, Halligan thought disgustedly. He narrowed his eyes and shook his head, his voice dripping with jealousy, “I really hate you guys, you know that?” Idle words, he knew, since at the moment he was desperately trying to inhale as much second hand smoke as he could. Damn, but that just smells so good! 

 

He was jerked out of his reverie when Merle suddenly twisted his head around, startled and tense, his eyes turning an odd color, the pupils lengthening to vertical slits. The one called Micah was running towards them, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out he was slightly alarmed. 

 

Merle flung the cigar away, and he no longer fought his cat, allowing it to push it’s way to the surface slightly as the body signals his Nimir-Raj was telegraphing his way screamed danger to his instincts. Pard duty came to the forefront, and he quickly found his Nimir-Ra to ascertain her safety. A thrill of terror ran through his guts at the sight of Anita’s eyes that black with her power and lust. 

 

And they had humans to contain and protect. Shit. “Something’s bad wrong,” he breathed, and pushed himself to his feet. 

 

************************************************************************

 

“Micah!” Jean-Claude whispered, not wanted to startle anyone to the impending disaster, his concentration solely on maintaining his tight but tenuous hold on all of the ravenous ones. “The volunteers, get them in place, quickly!” For the hundredth time, he blessed the Alpha Wereleopard’s willingness and common sense. Micah never questioned, his eyes and nose telling him Anita’s state. He just nodded and ran to the assembled donors. 

 

He could taste the ardeur on his tongue, a heady flavor reminiscent of Syrah, an intoxicating aroma of leather and spice that attempted to overwhelm him and throw them all into the throes of unrelenting ecstasy. Anita’s hunger resonated through him, threatening to ignite his own Incubus and undo all the good this night had brought. Undo it, and turn it into an unmitigated fiasco. Humanity warily tolerated the vampire feeding habits it understood, the need for blood accepted as long as the donor was willing. The ability to absorb power and quench the bloodlust through sex would be horrifying. The revelation coming at the expense of unwitting rescuers would be abhorrent. Anita had to be sated inconspicuously, or it would be the ruin of them all.

 

Already the overt sexual interplay between his Human Servant and her Pomme was drawing puzzled and disapproving looks from noticing humans. Nathaniel was caressing Anita’s ribs with his fingertips, sensuously tracing ever growing circles as he teased the bottoms of her breasts with his touch. Anita’s hands were clenched in his auburn tresses, painfully pulling his head backwards, a constant pressure that was forcing small whimpers of pleasure from Nathaniel’s lips. Jean-Claude shivered at the shared agony and ecstasy, a thrill of dread clutching at his mind as he feared losing control himself. He dared not raise his shields; bereft of his controlling power and knowledge, they would be lost to the lust consuming them. He watched Richard growl as Damian, his eyes twin emerald fires glittering against his alabaster skin, attempted to nuzzle the hair of his mistress. Irritated, Damian snarled in return, his teeth lengthening as his face thinned to it’s true reflection. 

 

It had to be contained before it spiraled into disaster. 

 

‘Ma Petite!’ he whispered seductively. ‘Listen to me, Cheri’.’ Black eyes unerringly found his own. Anita released her hold on Nathaniel’s hair, and stilled his hands, to his evident growling displeasure. With the last of her control, she implored, ‘Jean-Claude, please. Help me! Stop this!’ 

 

‘It cannot be stopped’, he soothed, ‘but we can feed it, you and I, from others. Micah has gone for humans to feed our wounded. I will push a small amount of the ardeur into them, Ma Petite, then we shall feed from a distance on the pleasure of their couplings, as they sate their hunger for blood. But you must control your triumvirate, Anita! Richard, calm her!’ 

 

That was never a good sign, when Jean-Claude called her by her given name. She could feel Richard at her back, large and imposing, his wolf form dwarfing her as he bit commandingly into her neck. The sharp pinpricks of pain from his teeth helped her focus, and calmness suffused her being as her beast accepted his dominance as a likely mate and submitted. 

 

“Damian, stop,” she whispered, barely audible, as she sought to govern him through the marks. He stilled, his hand in mid reach to stroke her hair, compelled by their link to obey her. “Go to Violet; be there for her. For me.” Damian dropped his hand to his side, and shuddered as he fought to obey her will. Comprehension slowly dawned in his eyes, and he bowed to her, spun on his heel, and sought out his love. 

 

One down, Anita thought, and she felt her neck vibrate as Richard growled in agreement, still refusing to relinquish his hold and dominion. She stared down into yearning lavender eyes, startled that she still held Nathaniel’s hands vice like in her own. “I need you to help feed, Nathaniel. Feed, and feed me your pleasure. Please.” Nathaniel nodded, lashes lowering submissively over his disappointed eyes. As soon as she released him, he liquidly rolled over to the closest cot, leaning into the waiting embrace of Alain, demurely arching his head back and to the side to offer a clean line to his throat. 

 

As soon as Damian and Nathaniel were no longer a temptation, Richard released his grip, and rubbed his snout against the indentations of his teeth. “Better?” he asked gruffly, his voice harsh with his own suppressed desires. 

 

“Better, but far from out of the woods,” she moaned. “Jean-Claude, you’d better hurry, or the morning news is going to have a lot more interesting pictures then a bunch of shifting wolves.” 

 

************************************************************************

Micah never paused by his second, merely shouted instructions calmly as he bolted past for the RPIT squad. “Merle, get everyone organized and over there! This is happening fast! Take the firemen with you; I’ll deal with Zerbrowski. Keep it so that a human has a lycanthrope next to them for guidance!” 

 

Merle bowed liquidly and turned back to Halligan, as he gave silent signals to his Pard. “Well, here’s your wish. Go get your people with mine, and let’s move like we have a purpose.” 

 

Except Halligan dug his heals in and stood his ground. He agreed to this, and knew he’d only moments before had been bitching it was taking too long, but this smelled like a fuck up, and he wasn’t about to let his men walk blindly into hazardous situation. “No. Something’s not right here, you know it, I feel it, and no one’s moving until I get some assurances.” 

 

Merle bit back the snarl that was trying to curl at his lips. He wouldn’t let his Pard be railroaded into something just because someone else was in a hurry. Couldn’t expect it of the Chief either. “Didn’t think you would, but can I explain while we’re moving?” he asked civilly, trying to shove the impatience out of his voice. Halligan locked eyes with him, daring him to lie or force the issue, then nodded, and waved his crew over. 

 

Merle let go of the breath he’d been holding, and a small amount of the tension in his shoulders leaked away. If the man had refused, they would have had a feeding free for all on their hands. “Thanks. It’s not what you think; it’s just a case of too much too soon. I figure they had planned on doing them a group at a time, but ended up with all of the wounded back to consciousness and ravenous. So we can’t dilly dally; they need blood, now. I understand your concern, but I trust my Alphas. And Jean-Claude is one powerful vampire. I guess it was just, unexpected.”

 

He could see the confused looks on the men’s, and one woman’s, face as they jogged over. He couldn’t blame them; they’d been promised orderly and safe, and the vibe coming from the assembled preternatural leaders was anything but. Even his own people were nervous; he could smell Cherry’s anxiety as she whimpered slightly and clutched onto Zane’s arm. “I told you,” she moaned, her eyes rolling slightly. “I knew it, I just knew it. Does anything ever go to plan? We are living proof that Murphy ’s Law is a truism.”

 

Merle cut her off. They couldn’t afford her panic spreading to the humans and making them balk at donating. “There’s no time for this, Cherry,” he said, his tone steely and even. “You’re going to help, and you’re going to be quiet. It’s not out of control, Anita and Micah wouldn’t allow any of us to get hurt. They used too much power, by accident I’m guessing, and got everyone awake and hungry at the same time. That’s all.” I hope, he thought fervently to himself, not mentioning the fact that the very ones who he was relying on to keep things under control were just a bit out of control themselves, and dealing with an entirely separate crisis, if his senses were telling the truth. Namely, the ardeur. 

 

**************************************************************************

 

Smith pulled his earpiece out, stifling a yawn as he let his superior know, “I’ve got three paddy wagons inbound, estimated time of arrival sixteen minutes. They’re all they got, and should have ample room to take all the shifters to where ever they want to go. Drivers are willing to do the job, but if we don’t use them we’ll have to provide transport back to the facility for them. Oh, and they want you to sign a waiver for them saying you take full responsibility for the vehicles.” He leaned to look around his boss. “Where’s Katie?”

 

“Getting checked over by the shifter doc, Lillian,” Zerbrowski answered absently. He shook his head. “Of course DOC wants to wash their hands. God forbid we scratch the upholstery or something, and they lose funding. How’d you manage to get them to volunteer to drive?”

 

The young detective leaned back, his fingers laced behind his head, a smug look on his face. “The DOC pukes were a little taken aback at my nonchalance over having a bunch of werewolves to transport. That, and they might have been a bit pissed when I called them a bunch of pussies for not wanting to do the job, and said I’d be over with some men and do it myself. Apparently, they are a little competitive and couldn’t stand that I was comfortable doing something they wouldn’t.”

 

Laughing, Zerbrowski clapped the boy on the shoulder. “Smith, you did one helluva job tonight. I’m putting in a commendation for you, as soon as I let a few pints of blood be sucked out, spend some alone time with my wife, and sleep for about…” he trailed off at the distracted look Smith was wearing. Now what?

 

Before he could even ask, Smith chimed in, confused, “Uh, Lieutenant? I know freaky’s a relative term for all we’ve been through tonight, but those shifters all of a sudden have gone freaky on us.”

 

Zerbrowski whirled around, and damned if the boy wasn’t right. All of the wolves had gone dead still, staring back at Anita and the others, their noses pointed slightly in the air, nostrils quivering as they picked up some scent. It was eerie, the way their total attention was on the Executioner. He frowned, puzzled. Anita looked different. Odd. And if he didn’t know better it seemed as though she was yanking the hair out of that stripper boyfriend of hers, and he was letting his fingers do a little walking on her body.

 

And just to make this new rabbit hole they’d fallen into complete, Micah was running towards them with a determined, and slightly strained, look on his face. Somewhere along the line he’d lost the blanket, and the juvenile part of his brain idly interjected a ‘whoa!’ to the situation.

 

“Micah, what’s wrong? We just finished arranging for the buses, and I was just about to gather the boys and head back.”

 

Micah gripped Zerbrowski’s arm painfully. Urgently. “I don’t have time to explain. If you want to help Byron, and the others, we have to hurry back, now.” He could feel the Lieutenant’s muscles bunch under his hand, and felt him pull back against his grip. He shook Zee’s arm, and looked him directly in the eye, pouring every ounce of honesty and desperation he possessed into his golden eyes, willing the man to understand and go along. “You talked about trust before? Well I need you to trust me now. Move!”

 

Zerbrowski never hesitated. “SMITH! MERLIONI! Gather up the rest of the volunteers and MOVE! Things have escalated and we have to get over there PRONTO!”

 

Micah kept his hold on the RPIT officer, dragging him over to Byron’s side, shouting at his Pard and the others, “Have all of you coupled up? Good! My people, remember to watch out for the rookies!” Byron hissed provocatively at his feet, his eyes gone completely solid, his hunger making his own stomach clench in pangs of desire. Coaxing Zerbrowski to the ground, he quickly amended his instructions, fearful of the possible consequences and not willing to take a chance with the humans. “Wrists only! Everyone hear that? No throats!”

 

“No throats, Aye Aye, Captain!” an unfamiliar voice called jokingly from further down the line. Micah smiled grimly as he did a quick inventory of all the naive faces. They had no clue of the sensations they were about to be bombarded with. There was no time to warn them of how sexually explosive the whole experience was about to be, but he tried.

 

“Everyone just relax, look in their eyes, and offer them your wrists. It’s going to be a wild ride,” he finished as he knelt next to the last vampire, and offered his arm. He gave one last look around; Nathaniel was already bitten, moaning and writhing as Alain sucked at his throat and toyed suggestively with his chest. The humans were almost all rolled, their eyes dreamy, their faces slack and smiling. Damian was cuddling Violet, his lips kissing along her collar bone as the female vampire she was paired with struck. Zerbrowski was supine, Byron straddling him, his lips back and fangs extended for the bite. He winced as he felt his own wrist pierced.

 

And at their center stood Jean-Claude, his eyes completely midnight blue, his power billowing around his lean form. Anita stood in front of him, her hands resting against his chest, her head bent. He pushed her towards Micah, and commanded, “Feed, my children. Feed, and heal, and reward the gift with as much pleasure as you can imbue. Ma Petite, satiate the ardeur from the bounty at your lips, and from the ecstasy of those whose blood gives life.”

 

Nodding, she reached out to Micah, and pulled him into her arms, devouring his mouth with her own, a Succubus pulling the sexual energy and life into the ardeur. Jean-Claude’s command was like caressing fingers across every erogenous zone in her body, and she gorged the ardeur on Micah and the others.


	31. Chapter Thirty-One

Intrigued, Lillian watched the Lieutenant walk back to his men and the milling pack. It was obvious to her eyes and ears that he hadn't wanted to leave. His gaze had lingered on his wife a moment too long, and his hug and kiss goodbye were just a shade drawn out, telltale signs that he was reluctant to leave Katie so soon after her rescue. But he did so anyway. Because he had a job to do.

 

Diogenes' honest man. And someone Raphael would want to know about, in depth.

 

A mock peeved voice broke her free of her thoughts and brought a grin to her face.

 

"Beg your pardon, here? As a respected member of the medical profession, shouldn't you at least be giving me a band-aid or something? Instead of eyeing my husband's heinie like your next meal?" Katie questioned, eyebrows raised, her tone only half joking. "I mean, come on. As far as butts go, there are far firmer ones wandering around than Zee's."

 

Lillian laughed as she snapped on a fresh pair of gloves and eyed her patient critically. For all the drama she'd been through, she looked and sounded to be in decent shape. Good genes, clean living, or luck; take your pick, but something had to be working on Katie's side. She thought about adopting a professional demeanor, but swiftly changed her mind. That would be the wrong tack to take with a cop's wife. Besides, she hadn't been a doctor for as many decades as she had, dealing with the ever present rank maneuverings of shapeshifters, without learning to quip as good as you got.

 

She exaggerated her tone, tuning in to just this side of sarcasm. "So you're the infamous Katie Zerbrowski. You're shorter than I expected."

 

"Good things, small packages, yadda yadda yadda," Katie grimaced back, tugging her fingers through her snarled hair in a vain attempt to at least look like something the cat would want to drag in. "I guess the proper response to that would be, `in the flesh', but for the life of me I don't know what I did to deserve the infamous title."

 

"Oh, nothing much," Lillian answered as she tightened a blood pressure cuff around Katie's arm. "Just earned the respect and liking of some of my fellow lycanthropes. Jason swears you're a dominant," she laughed. "Oh, and a little thing like managing to have the most powerful preternatural leaders in the St Louis community pulling out the stops to get you out of that collapsed building."

 

Lillian scrunched her face thoughtfully as she pulled out her stethoscope. "Well, to be fair, Richard, Jean-Claude, and Anita would have moved heaven and earth to get to Jason as well, but you were just as high up their priorities." She stilled as she listened to Katie's pulse and slowly released the cuff. A surprised look crossed her face. "110 over 60! Do you have any nerves at all in your body? A lycanthrope I'd expect that from, but a human? That's incredible for all the stress you were under!"

 

Katie shrugged, unimpressed. "Once you save your four year old from choking on a jaw breaker, everything else is gravy. And I normally run low.' She frowned slightly as the older woman's words sunk in. "Zee would have done the same for Jason, you know. For anyone. You're making it sound like if it were anyone else in that building than the two of us, they would have been left there or something."

 

Lillian winced. It had come across like that, but it wasn't her intent. "I apologize. That wasn't what I meant. Oh, I have no doubt that Lieutenant Zerbrowski would have done what was necessary, and that Jean-Claude and the others would have given him all the help he needed. It was the level of urgency, of personal commitment, that was different. Do you realize that? Understand the implications? The Master of the City was concerned for you, because of who you are and who your friends are. That's amazing, really."

 

Katie shook her head, confused. "I don't get how I got status like that. I really don't. I'm just a cop's wife."

 

Lillian quieted as she continued her physical examination, and thought of a way to explain the politics of the situation. How it all started with Zerbrowski. That the man was more than simply a good cop had not escaped Raphael and the Rodere. The RPIT officer was under the protection of Richard, and had been since he'd had the temerity to follow him to the Lupunar on a full moon. He was considered a friend to Anita, and many of the other shapeshifters of the city. And Claudia, who was schooled in the `Trust no one' philosophy, spoke glowingly of his integrity and abilities, something the taciturn woman had rarely done for anyone else in the past.

 

Satisfied with her exam, she stood and peeled the sweaty gloves from her hands. "We all have our eyes on your husband, Katie. The shifter community, that is. It's rare for lycanthropes to trust those in law enforcement, like we are learning we can of your husband. That's quite a man you've got there, Mrs. Zerbrowski."

 

Katie nodded in agreement. "No argument from me. Zee can handle himself in a crisis, and he's a good honest person."

 

A wife's opinion, Lillian thought to herself. She eyed the woman contemplatively. As a shrewd and respected Alpha of the Rodere, Raphael valued her opinion and insights greatly. He would speak to Claudia, of course, for a tactical debriefing of the calamity. There was a professional element to their alliances with the Lukoi and Vampires, and he would need to know from his military members of what transpired, what they had learned from the case, and how they could use the knowledge they had gained.

 

But he would rely on her for a visceral explanation of what had happened. The coming together in the face of adversity of all the races of St. Louis. Richard's regal acceptance of the mantle of Ulfric. The possibilities of alliances with some very unique humans, Zerbrowski among them. It was her duty to gather as much of the truth as she could obtain, so that her King could make the safest decisions for the future of his Rats.

 

So she decided to probe a little deeper, to push a few buttons. In as casual a tone as she could muster, she idly observed, "People rise to the challenge in the face of adversity all the time, Katie. It's afterwards that counts. Human nature is to slide back into the comfortable and forget the painful. You'll see; everyone will go back to the programmed opinions society has dictated to them. We're monsters, and its law enforcement's job to protect the public."

 

It worked. Muscles tensed, eyes sparking, Katie bristled at the criticism. "Don't. Don't you dare sell him short. He's been a fair man long before this night with preternaturals. You aren't the one who listens to him agonize over his lack of knowledge, of how he hates that damn readjustment center for lycanthropes." Katie was agitated, waving a finger as she continued on her rant. "You know where he is right now? He's donating blood..."

 

Bingo. Just the outrage she was looking for, and exactly what she expected. But she had to be sure. She cut her short with a raised hand. "Hush. I just needed to hear the truth as you see it with my own ears. I know what your husband's doing. The same thing a lot of good people are doing tonight. Helping the vampires by donating blood."

 

Katie subsided, still ticked off, but reining it in. "Why the test? And why the implied insults to Zee's reputation?"

 

Lillian answered simply, deliberately looking at Katie eye to eye to show her sincerity. "Because people are going to be relying on my opinion of what happened here this evening, and I won't give it unless I'm sure of myself. And now I'm sure of myself."

 

Katie subsided. "Geez Louise, my husband was right. You all have trust issues."

 

"Hey, walk a mile in our shoes," Lillian scoffed, her eyes sparkling. She got the gut answer she was looking for, an answer and explanation she felt comfortable taking back to Raphael.

 

But back to the matter at hand. She patted Katie's arm encouragingly. "You'll be glad to hear your lungs are clear, which was my biggest concern considering the length of time you were trapped inside with all the soot and dust. You do have some nasty scrapes that I'll clean up for you, and some contusions that you'll want to ice for a few days, but other then that your in amazingly good shape for what you've been through."

 

Damn, but this was something that was just going to take getting used to. These people changed gears and topics fast. "I was lucky. I had people looking out for me. I hope the same is true for Byron. He's the one Zee's donating to."

 

Lillian nodded. "I heard what Byron and Jason did for you. That's what I meant by standing and having friends. And don't worry, Jean-Claude will see to his vampire."

 

Katie smiled and nodded, and Lillian was quick to pick up on the wince of pain the motion caused. "If you're overly sore now, I can give you something light to relax your muscles so you don't stiffen up," she asked as she knelt down in front of her old fashioned black bag and rummaged around for her bottle of Carisoprodol. That was when the shockwave of power flowed over her. She gasped, and nearly collapsed, her wereform clamoring to be let out and allowed to revel in the energy suffusing the entire club lot. Panting jerkily, the thought `What the hell was happening now?' coursing through her mind, she stood and searched out the cause of the disturbance.

 

Her heart nearly stopped when she discovered it. "Anita, no!" she moaned, as she watched and felt the ardeur flair in the woman, and spread to those beholden to her. The power seductively beckoned to all who could feel it. She'd only heard of the ardeur before, had never seen it wielded first hand. It was terrifying, because it was attractive, a self-destructive kind of attraction that would have you begging for more if you allowed yourself to succumb body and soul to the offered pleasures.

 

Katie was frightened. The Doctor's abrupt change in demeanor was unsettling, to say the least. "What's wrong? What's Anita doing?" she demanded, as she shoved herself to her feet in time to see her husband and the others bolting towards the laid out vampires. Lillian shook her head to clear the cobwebs, and snapped herself back to reality. No way could she allow Katie to go over there and get sucked in as well. Grabbing the panicky woman by the shoulders, in her best physician's voice she reasoned, "Katie, sit down. You need to let me clean you up, and you do not want to be over there right now. You'll thank me later."

 

Katie angrily knocked Lillian's hands aside. "Why does everyone think they have a God given right to tell me what I can and cannot do tonight? That's my husband, and if Zee's there, and it looks like trouble, and I'm damn right well going to be over there as well."

 

If it came to an orgy, no one, least of all Katie, would thank her for letting her go over there. "Zerbrowski's physically safe. It's not that kind of trouble, and Anita and the others will handle the little power boost they just created. Trust me." Lillian said soothingly. She could see the subtle shift in Katie's shoulders as the woman relaxed minutely. She peered over at the abandoned wolves, a worried look creasing her tired face as they started to sway and show signs of animation. "But that, my dear, is. I wish Claudia hadn't gone off with Mr. Asher," she fretted, searching the crowd for a fellow wererat.

 

Success wasn't long in coming. "FREDO! Get over here!"

 

The Rodere had instinctively distanced themselves from the feeding and its outcome, fanning out about the perimeter to safeguard against intrusion and prying eyes. Fredo's head whipped around at the sound of his name, locking on Lillian almost immediately as the caller. He separated himself from the group and loped over, giving a wary birth to the agitated pack. He in no way could handle all of them, and had no wish to provoke them unduly.

 

"Guess we have a new problem, huh, Doc?" he asked softly, his black eyes glittering. Fredo loved problems. He lived for excitement.

 

Lillian explained quickly. "We HAVE to get the wolves out of here. It's looking like Jean-Claude and the others are a bit up to their eyeballs at the moment, and if the pack reacts to the tension their Lupa is feeding them it would be disastrous."

 

Fredo's eyes went wide as he fully comprehended what Lillian was saying. "The cops were arranging transport. It should be here soon. But Doc, there aren't enough rats to force them on, and even if we were able to any interspecies lycanthrope throw down isn't going to play well with the newsies, and no amount of vamp eyeballing is going to change that."

 

Lillian grabbed his hand as a light bulb went off in her head. "That's it. Vamps. Which one of them calls wolves? You know who I'm talking about; the female who has Graham and Clay sniffing after her. I patched Clay up after an Alpha fight with Graham about her and he told me what happened. I just can't remember her name"

 

"Meng Die!" Fredo answered, wrinkling his nose in distaste. She wasn't well liked by the workforce of the circus. "Haughty bitch."

 

"I don't care what she is. Find her. Fast." Fredo bobbed slightly at the neck, and whirled around, his muscles bunched as he prepared to bolt. Lillian's voice held him back.

 

"And Fredo? Get Rodere drivers. No humans. They've no need to figure out how important the Circus is."

****************************************************************

 

Micah sank into Anita's kiss. Captured, he let his eyelids flutter closed, and he listened to his heart pounding in his chest, pumping life through his veins, practically drowning the vampire feasting at his wrist as it gushed from the twin gashes the man's teeth had made to feed. Lust burned through him, the growling need for possession and release demanding that he take control. He snaked his free arm up Anita's back, his hand entangling in her curly black locks as his beast insisted he prevent his mate's escape. Every inch of him was aflame, attuned to Anita, the redolent smells of sex from his pard and the humans forcing his arousal to a fevered pitch. Heady with excitement, he pulled his Nimir-Ra's head back, and gasped in air to his heated lungs. Anita's eyes were black, and he watched languidly as she ran a dry tongue across her swollen lips.

 

But an annoying tendril of fear nagged at him, as the remaining sensible portion of his brain attempted to warn of the danger he was plunging willingly into. He tried to rein in his desires, to temper the needs coursing through his veins with common sense. `NO! I can't let this happen. I need to stay in control.' Deep, deliberate breaths began to slow his thudding heart, and he thought the battle won when he shivered with the feel of metaphysical fur gliding silkily against his own beast as Anita, his Nimir-Ra, sulkily demanded his attention.

 

`Devour her', his alpha leopard urged, and lost to the power, he readily obliged, nipping along her exposed neck down to her breasts, reveling in the musky scent of sweat and sex as he closed his eyes and gripped her shirt front with his teeth. He wanted her naked, and underneath him, and he snarled as he ran both his hands up the back of her ruined dress. Both his hands, he realized, startled, not knowing when the feeding vampire had been sated and released him. He glanced down at the glutted vampire, realizing for the first time that the slight blond man had been fondling his leg suggestively, testing the waters by running his fingertips along the inside of his thigh. Micah snarled, his canines and claws elongating in anger at the encroachment, and the man flopped back, a slight smile playing on his lips, his face dreamy with lycanthrope blood and his master's power.

 

The challenge met, he turned his attentions back to his mate, raising his still bleeding wrist to her lips as an offering. Anita reached for him, but was thwarted by two large wolf hands that enveloped her hands like furred handcuffs. Blinding fury narrowed Micah's sights on his rival. `Mine!' echoed through his thoughts and sexually overloaded nerves, and his beast began to hold sway. A rational part of his brain still struggled for control, reasoned that this was a huge mistake, but his dominant Alpha raged against the wolf who too often was a challenger for his affections. Pupils elongating, his eyes bleeding to their complete leopard form, he threw his head back and screamed his anger, his husky voice morphing from a deep masculine human sound to a feline roar.

 

He quieted abruptly as cool hands cocooned his cheeks, his cat taken completely unawares by the interloper. Unable to move his head, he rolled his eyes upward, catching a glimpse of creamy white skin and black fur moments before deep blue eyes swam into his vision. Not fur, but hair, raven hued and curly as Anita's, and his breath hitched in his throat at the sensation of raw sex and power this creature held. Jean-Claude, his human side whispered, and his cat shivered at the name, remembering the battle and submission of their first encounter and feeding. Alpha, but not his equal, and as Nimir-Raj he refused his dominance. But the eyes, the sapphire blue eyes demanded his body, and shivery and needy himself, Micah covered the elegant fingers cradling his face with his own hands, and ran them up velvet clothed arms until his still seeping wrist hovered enticingly under the vampire's elegant nose. A guttural sound rumbled in Jean-Claude's throat, as a red tongue snaked out and licked across the twin weeping puncture wounds. They moaned in unison at the taste and sensation of the contact, and Jean-Claude's head blurred downward to suck on the wereleopard's wet lower lip.

 

"This is NOT fucking happening!" Richard cursed roundly, tucking Anita under his arm and barreling into Jean-Claude's mind through the marks. `Damn it, the two of you, get a fucking grip! I can't control everything on my own, and if Anita and you immerse yourselves in the ardeur it's going to be bloody bedlam around here in a heartbeat!"

 

Jean-Claude shivered, tightening his grasp on Micah's face as he schooled his body into a tight control. He nodded in agreement. "Anita. Richard, you must reach out to her as Lupa. Touch her wolf so the leopard is kept at bay. Break her concentration on her need so I may help her feed from afar."

 

Richard eyed him suspiciously. "Are you sure you're all there?"

 

"Oui," Jean-Claude whispered as he closed his eyes and rolled his head on his shoulders, allowing it to hang for several physically unnecessary but psychically cleansing breaths. "I am not a servant to the power. The ardeur serves me." He opened his eyes and ran soothing thumbs across Micah's cheekbones. "I have not succumbed, though the offered delights were enticing. And Anita?" He smiled as the scent of wolf, of the pack, wafted throughout the area.

 

Richard turned Anita until her eyes met his, and felt across the marks to her. He touched his wolves, felt them standing still and enraptured by the unfolding scene before them. They were Thronnos Rokke, and his to protect and command. He suffused her senses with fur, and woods, and the hunt. Of her Ulfric. Of him. Slowly, white crept back into her eyes, and she shuddered and went limp in his hands.

 

"Anita's back, no thanks to you," Richard chastised, his voicing chuffing in disapproval. "What the hell did you think would happen, pushing her towards Micah? `Taste the bounty at your lips' or some other nonsense wasn't it? What's wrong with you? And did you honestly think the man would appreciate getting molested in public by the Master of the City? Hell, you're lucky we didn't have an alpha battle right in the middle of an ardeur crisis when I interfered! Do you think we can just tackle one neurosis at a time here?"

 

Jean-Claude smoothed his hands down his jacket sleeves, and through his hair, a stalling gesture Richard recognized as a final settling of power and thoughts. "A mistake, I agree. I was, ah, balay vers le haut dans le moment. Swept up in the moment."

 

Richard rolled his eyes, mentally biting back a response as Anita thumped her head against his furred chest. "Point taken Richard. I'm almost all here, but I still need to satisfy the ardeur. Thanks for the save. Good thing you were still in control." She eyed him suspiciously, and he saved her the breath of the question that was brewing in her thoughts.

 

He ran at tongue across her cheek. "Yeah, I know. How much trouble are we in when I'M the rational, keep it together one here?"

 

Jean-Claude snorted, an incredibly succulent sound that had all of the vampires in his thrall moaning as they fed. Only he could turn a noise normal people made crude into a sound best reserved for the bedroom. "It seems the blending of our personalities through the marks has been advantageous to you, my wolf. You've gained some of my practicality and finesse." He stroked lightly along Anita's back. "Ma Petite, the ardeur, it still needs sating. I will do as we first planned. Are you prepared?"

 

Anita turned back to him. "As prepared as I'll ever be, considering I'm about to feed off the lust of some of my best friends and colleagues," was the politest response she felt she could give. As far as sarcasm went, it was mild.

 

"Bon. As we did at Guilty Pleasures, Ma Petite."

 

The volunteers arched where they lay, soft moans and fluttery eyelids solid indications of the pleasure they were experiencing. Jean-Claude touched his forehead to hers, then feathered his lips against her ear.

 

"Feed. While we still may."


	32. Chapter Thirty-Two

“Damn, the transport’s here already!” Lillian swore, frustration laced through her voice as she spotted the buses winding their way up the access road to the cordoned off lot.

 

Katie paused, her moist towelette forgotten as she cocked an eyebrow at Lillian, surprised at the tone. “I thought the idea was to get the shifted wolves out of here? Ringing a bell with you? Looming catastrophe, the sooner the better?”

 

Lillian glanced back at her in amused aggravation. “It was, Katie, but we don’t have them under control,” she fretted, hands on her hips as her mind raced to come up with yet another seat of the pants solution. 

 

Katie frowned suspiciously. “I know this was a pressing matter, but I’m not sure I feel comfortable with the under control comment. How volatile is this?” She thought back to the other man, who had immediately run off looking for a vampire after talking to Lillian. Damn it, she should have paid closer attention. “Just who’s in danger here, anyway?” 

 

“I’m not going to lie to you, but perhaps ‘organized’ would have been a better phrase to use.” Lillian bled off some of her exasperation on the human woman. It felt good to vent, and it was a feeling she rarely got to indulge in. People came to her with their problems; she didn’t go to others. “Do you have any good ideas on how we’re supposed to strong arm a few dozen werewolves away from their Ulfric and Lupa, and into the vans, with all the power that’s coursing around us? You don’t understand; it feels good to a shifter, and we’re hardwired to obey the ones above us, just like natural animals! If it becomes a bit of a pissing contest, in front of the authorities.…” 

 

And Katie took it all in, comprehension gradually dawning in her mind. “Gotcha. That’s why you needed Meng-Die, to help get them on peaceably. You need her for them to focus on, instead of what’s happening over there. With my husband.” She looked over at the blood banquet being held, and starting noticing the touches, the groping, the looks of gratification. 

 

Now just hold on a second here…“Hey! Just how good does this feel to humans, anyway?” 

 

“Better pleasure than pain, wouldn’t you say?” Lillian answered evasively. “And that’s exactly why I needed Meng Die and her connection to the wolves. If those drivers try to approach the pack as agitated as they are right now, and make them get on those buses, it’ll be uglier then you can imagine.” Lillian looked back at where Fredo had run off to, hoping against hope that he was already returning with Meng Die. 

 

No such luck. 

 

Lillian quickly made up her mind. “We need to stall them, to keep them away. Can you help, Katie?” 

 

Katie stood decisively, not entirely happy with the whole ‘better pleasure then pain’ explanation, but willing to push her objections aside in face of a greater need. She and Zee could talk later. In great length. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of the drivers, I may know some of them through wives dinners and such. You can count on me. I owe. But answer me one thing.” 

 

Lillian suspected she knew what was going to be asked. “Are we too late, and are things already out of control? No. It’s just, complicated right now. And the wrong set of circumstances can make it ugly. But understand this, Katie. Lycanthropes live our lives trusting in our Alphas. I trust that Anita, Jean-Claude, Richard and Micah will get things worked out over there. They,” Lillian continued, pointing her chin at the werewolves, “will trust Meng Die and the ones dominant among them. And you,” she finished, poking a finger at the indomitable Mrs. Zerbrowski, “need to trust me.” 

 

Katie gave her a snappy salute and headed off towards the buses. “Oddly enough, I do trust you. I trust all of you people. Hell, putting this into perspective, its mild compared to a lot of what I’ve been through tonight. You guys are a ton of fun.” Her grin faded slightly as she asked seriously, “How long do you need?” 

 

Lillian waved her on, amused at the solidarity Katie had unabashedly embraced. “Keep them calm for ten minutes, Katie!” she called after the retreating woman. “Ten minutes! It shouldn’t take longer then that to get her over here!” 

 

And if it did take longer, and Anita didn’t rein things in, it wasn’t really going to matter. 

 

*********************************************************************** 

 

“This night just blows,” Fredo grumbled as he sprinted towards the maelstrom of trouble that was Anita and the others, when every instinct he had was cajoling him to turn tail and bolt in the opposite direction as fast as his two, or preferably four, legs could carry him. ‘I owe you one, Claudia’, he thought as he searched the area for the ‘Beast from the East’. ‘Couldn’t take me with you, could you?’ 

 

Mercifully, it didn’t take long for him to locate Meng Die. The vampire was hovering on the periphery of the feedings, ostensibly guarding her master and the life of his human servant, but in reality looking like she’d sink her teeth into the first available throat she could overpower. He didn’t like the way she looked, didn’t like this plan, didn’t like that he was a hairsbreadth away from a hard-on, but Lillian was right; this was the best they had to work with. He skidded to a halt in front of the petite oriental vampire, panting and wary. As a wererat, he was immune to her call, but he wasn’t stupid enough to believe that left him impervious to her power. She was a Master Vampire, and a bitchy one at that, so he left himself adequate fighting distance and was careful to keep his eyes down. Lycanthropes may have a greater resistance to vampire wiles, but that didn’t mean they were immune. 

 

Not that it mattered, really. Unless he was naked and offering a vein, Meng Die could have cared less. Fredo ran his tongue nervously over his teeth as he took stock of her condition. Her eyes were dilated, button black and inhuman. Her fangs were extended, an instinctual reaction to the bloodlust and sex that was thrumming in the area. Ever the incautious one, he raked his gaze over her breasts, idly cataloguing the fact that her teeth weren’t the only body parts responding to the power. The vampire was aroused, practically salivating with the lust being shoved at her from the Master of the City. Meng Die hissed at him, annoyed at his perusal, but in equal parts anger and desire. Fredo took a cautious step back, careful to only appear as a submissive, not as prey in flight. 

 

Lucky him, he grimaced, he got to reel her in AND try to get her to agree to help. 

 

And for the life of him he didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or fuck her. 

 

Deciding that none of the three was a viable option, Fredo backpedaled further, holding his hands out in a placating gesture. For some Godforsaken reason, he was counting on rationale to bring the vampire around. “I apologize for the intrusion, but Lillian sent me to fetch you, Ma’am. We need help loading up the wolves and getting them out of here before they have a good old fashioned doggy style orgy back there, and she thought you were the best option since they are your animal to call.” Angry black eyes glittered at him as he finished his request, and he began to seriously doubt the intelligence of going to his godforsaken harpy for help. 

 

Meng Die hissed at the crude Were, but paused just short of an attack. The power was intoxicating, and it would be easy to immerse herself in its warm depths, but she forcibly reined in her desire as the foul beast’s words sunk in. Too much had been made public this night, and Jean-Claude would not thank her if she stood aside an allowed his wolves to do him or themselves harm. Besides, the Master had not called to her for aid, so her presence was not technically required here, and few individuals had the protection of every powerful preternatural in the city. Anita was one. Jason was another. 

 

Lillian was the third. 

 

The wererat administered to all, regardless of the flavor of shifter you were, or if you required liquid sustenance and night time to survive. That was a rarity among the supernatural communities, that one of their own transcended species loyalties and helped any that needed assistance. Meng Die knew herself to be ambitious, and arrogant, but even she realized it would be suicide to deny the old doctor her aid, or do anything to harm her or her own. 

 

She looked longingly at the tableau spread out before her. Anita, the Master’s whore, was feeding the ardeur from her cat with a vengeance only the desperate or powerful could wield. Jean-Claude was on his knees, swaying, as he simultaneously pulsed out and pulled in the power at his command. Richard, Ulfric and worthy of her, embraced the Executioner from behind, regal in his wolfman form as he obviously forced his will on the animator. Such bounty, all denied her beck and call as was her superior destiny. It could be hers to command, if she would just reach out and pluck it. She was a Master Vampire, and the wolves obeyed her whim. She could be the Mistress of the City, if she desired. 

 

An annoying voice intruded on her reverie. “Ma’am? Did you hear me?” 

 

Snarling in irritation at the coarse peasant who dared disturb her, she allowed her power to rise in preparation of punishment. So typical of this juvenile country; no kowtowing to the elite, as was their right. Bah. Democracy. Insanity to think equality was the norm, and this is what it bred. Servants who were insolent to their betters. She reached a hand back to discipline the beast, when a voice in her head froze her in mid motion. 

 

‘It is ill advised of you to complete that blow, child. Or does the prospect of a decade locked in your silk lined coffin appeal to you? Non, that is too crass for one as royal as you. Perhaps would you prefer I send you back to your former Lord?”

 

Meng-Die shivered at the contemplation of either threat. Jean-Claude. He was standing, smoothing his hands down his arms, the Nimir-Raj on his hands and knees at his feet. In control, of himself and his human servant, and not quite as incapacitated or inobservant as previously assumed. She admonished herself harshly; a failing of hers, to always underestimate her rivals. Another opportunity squandered. “Forgiveness, Shèngshàng”, she whispered into the night air, bowing her head at the neck and resisting the childhood training to kowtow in supplication. “No, Master. Neither will be necessary. Is it your wish I obey this unkempt beast?” 

 

Pain gripped her, as Jean-Claude’s anger thrummed against her. “Your arrogance is impertinent. That beast, as you put it, is an ally and an employee. Respect him as you would any other of my property or friends.” She winced and deepened her neck bow. As soon as she acquiesced the power receded. ‘Do not try me, Meng Die. I am balanced on a knife’s edge, and would take great pleasure in filleting you for your temerity. Obey the wererats and get my wolves to safety. Now.” 

 

A tentative voice insisted, louder then before, “MA’AM? We don’t have a ton of time here, and Lillian’s waiting. Are you going to help or not?” She watched with a forced impassiveness as the onerous peasant reached forward and shook her arm. By rights, it should have been her pleasure to have him beheaded, or at least caned for his rudeness. But this was neither her territory or the land of her birth. She sighed and settled the revenge deep inside for a later time. 

 

Patience was a generational tradition of her people. She humbled herself, body and voice, to her Master and stowed the shame away for a later unveiling. “Your pardon, Master. It would be my pleasure as always to obey.” 

 

************************************************************************** 

 

“Come on, Fredo, time’s running short,” Lillian grumbled as she alternated her attention from the milling pack to the hoard of vampires. It was obvious to her that the wolves were teetering at the limits of their control, but all that could be done was being done. Fredo was hurrying to get Meng Die, and Katie was handling the human authorities, so it was going to be up to her to exert her alpha status and maintain calm with the Lukoi. If their dominants were worth their salt, they should be able to control the lesser wolves, provided they could keep a semblance of control over themselves. 

 

She strode purposely up to the wolves, shoulders back and eyes deliberately making contact with all she approached. Even shifted, she could tell who was who within the pack, and she searched the multitude of fur for familiar colorings. There. She knew that one, and marching herself over, she planted herself in front of the male, hands defiantly fisted on her hips. Slight in stature, Lillian knew she made a comical appearance as she confronted the towering black wolf before her. 

 

But she wasn’t just any wererat. She was Alpha, and respected among the Rodere, and she had the confidence of the high ranked as she stared the larger Were down. 

 

Her voice rang out in disgust as she addressed the wolf before her. “Jamil!” she demanded. “Who is alpha among you?” 

 

Jamil snarled at the veiled insult, and reluctantly wrenched his attention from his Lupa. Anita tasted of Freyja, and his wolf whined at the opportunity of conquest and an Alpha fuck. But the woman before him was not to be ignored. She had the protection of the Ulfric and wolves tread softly around those the King favored. 

 

“I am, Rat. As is Andrew and Neal. What cares the Rodere who is dominant here?” 

 

Lillian smiled at the formal challenge of his words. Older or not, female or not, smaller or not, she was dominant to him and he was well aware of that fact. Something she was about to forcefully remind him. “And what is the duty of an Alpha to those subordinate to them?” 

 

Jamil ducked his snout to the side, wanting to avoid her questions, but unable to do so without insult. “To protect.” 

 

“To protect,” Lillian answered primly. “Fine job your doing then, Skoll. Is it your intention to race these poor souls to the impending orgy, or do you prefer to wait until the cameras and news people are set up so that the tatters of their lives are completely ruined?” she admonished. “Sylvie would never have allowed it to go this far, but then Sylvie is healing herself of wounds taken when she did your job,” she rebuked caustically, deliberately jabbing at his pride to get his attention. “I have Fredo fetching Meng Die to help settle them down. Does she have to settle you down too, or are you in control of yourself enough to assist?” 

 

Jamil sneezed in disgust, and gave her a jaundiced look. She was right; he was being derelict in his status, and disrespectful to boot. “Damn it, you old witch, do you always have to emasculate to make your point? Yes, I’m in control, but was it really necessary to call in a vampire?” He hunched down as he spoke, so that he no longer loomed over the petite grey haired doctor. 

 

She laid a hand on the scruff of his neck and smiled. “No, but it’s a gift. One I cherish too, mind you. Now are you going to work with Meng-Die or not?” 

 

Jamil’s lips curled and his nostril crinkled in disgust at the name. “I don’t trust that stuck up vamp. She can work over the lesser wolves, and she’s got aspirations.” 

 

Silently, Lillian agreed, but you used the tools you had, no matter how distasteful they were. “For the record, neither do I. And she looks at the Rodere like scum because we’re rats. But if she can help control your packmates and get them on the buses, peacefully, then I can put up with her. As soon as your far enough away from the influence of Richard and Anita you can boot her out of the moving vehicle if you want.” She looked pointedly into his glittering golden eyes. “You can do that, right? Keep her out and break her hold on the others?” 

 

Jamil nodded. “The only ones I obey without question are Richard, Anita, and Jean-Claude. And few others are dominant to me. So yes, I can boot her ass to Albuquerque if the need arises.” 

 

She glanced back at the approaching vampire and Fredo. “Good. Help her get them loaded up and out of here then!” 

 

************************************************************************

 

“KATIE!” a delighted Merlioni called out as soon as he recognized her approaching. “Good to see you in one piece! Your husband was about going out of his mind with you inside! Made the rest of us crazy as well.” He stood immediately, and gave his boss’ wife a hug. “Why are you over here? Shouldn’t you be resting or getting checked out?” 

 

Katie enjoyed the warmth of his embrace. She’d always liked Merlioni, even if he had a habit of getting into competitive crap with everyone he worked with, according to Zee. “I’m fine, really! But I thought you were supposed to be over with the rest of the guys donating?” 

 

Huge grin still firmly in place, Merlioni shook his head no. “Smith’s donating. My job’s to keep these lazy asses in line over here.” He took a good look at Katie, and noted her somewhat tense posture. “What’s up? Something wrong, Mrs. Zee?” 

 

Katie sighed happily and motioned the man to follow her. God bless her husband; his men were all bright an on the ball. “We just have a bit of a situation that the shifter Doctor Lillian asked me to help out with. It seems that the transport’s here for the werewolves, and they’re not quite ready yet. We have to stall them.” 

 

Perplexed, Merlioni trotted after her retreating back as she made her way over to the parked vehicles. “What do you mean, Ma’am? Smith said everything was five by five before he went over to give blood. What aren’t you telling me, Katie?” 

 

“Nothing horrible, I swear. They just need to settle them down some for the trip,” she answered, trying not to sound evasive.

 

Merlioni was hardly mollified. “DOC isn’t going to like it. The only reason they gave in was because Smith turned it into a pissing contest. If they get skittish, they’ll just take the vehicles and leave.” 

 

Appalled, she turned back to him. That would be a problem. Of biblical proportions. “We can’t let them do that, Merlioni! Can you just commandeer them?” 

 

He lengthened his stride until he was by her side. “I’m a detective, so I may outrank them, but what if they don’t want to drive? Who’re we going to get then?” 

 

Minor detail, as far as she was concerned. As long as they didn’t leave and take the buses with them. “We’ll work it out,” she reasoned. “Just please, help me keep them here!” 

 

His macho pride engaged, Merlioni soothed, “Hey, no problem, Katie. Don’t look so upset. Zerbrowski would pitch a fit if he thought I’d done something to you.” They both slowed and quieted as they reached the parked vehicles. 

 

A sandy haired man was waiting at the first bus as they walked up, eyeing the various groups of preternaturals warily. He looked at Katie equally suspiciously, then dismissed her as a civilian and turned his attention to Merlioni. 

 

“You Smith?” he barked abruptly, annoyed at being summoned here then made to wait. 

 

Merlioni pulled out his badge, and put on his best superior face. “Well aren’t you all kinds of rude. No, I’m not Smith. I’m Detective Merlioni of RPIT. Smith’s indisposed, and I’m here to take possession of the vehicles.” 

 

The DOC guard stiffened at the tone and term ‘possession’, and gave a cursory glance to the proffered badge before pointing to his own name tag. “Davis. Why aren’t the prisoners ready? I was told everything was set for the pick up.” 

 

Katie stiffened, but the RPIT detective beat her to her retort. “First off, Davis, stop acting like you're more than just a glorified bus driver. Second, these people are not now prisoners, have never been prisoners, and will never be prisoners, and I know that wasn’t the impression Smith gave you. So shut the fuck up with talk like that. And they’ll be here shortly.” 

 

Davis bristled at the one up man ship. “Bullshit. We’re out of here. The whole place looks unstable to me, and I’m not putting myself or DOC equipment in jeopardy.” 

 

Merlioni reached forward and snatched the keys from Davis’ hand. “Fine. You and your men can walk back for all I care, but the vehicles stay.” He dangled the keys at the other DOC drivers. “The rest of you, give your keys to Mrs. Zerbrowski!” The two other drivers looked at each other hesitantly. Merlioni bristled at being ignore, and yelled impressively, “NOW, damn you!” 

 

The tone was enough. The men tossed their keys at Katie, and with a shrug, started to walk back up the roadway. 

 

Davis was infuriated. “I want a waiver saying you’ll take full responsibility, Merlioni. It’s going to be your tit in the wringer when the shit hits the fan here, not mine.” 

 

Merlioni grimaced. God, he hated bureaucratic pukes as much as he despised two clichés in a single utterance. “You got it. Now start walking and get the hell out of here.” 

 

As soon as the prison guards were out of sight and earshot, Merlioni turned back to Katie. “Ok, I need the truth here. Are things unstable?” 

 

Katie thought about it a second, then waffled her hand back and forth in a ‘maybe, maybe not’ gesture. “Compared to everything else that’s gone down tonight? I’m beginning to understand what Zee has said all along; things are just different when you’re around these folk. They aren’t human, and they have their own rules. It’s a little wonky at the moment, but its going to be fine.” 

 

Merlioni chewed the inside of his cheek thoughtfully, his eyes steady on hers. Katie kept the contact calmly. Finally he nodded, and jerked his head towards the vehicles. “Don’t suppose you can drive one of these things?” he asked ruefully. 

 

Katie laughed. “Never have, but come on, how different can it be from a mini van?” 

 

Merlioni rolled his eyes. He’d heard outlandish tales of disasters from Zerbrowski about her driving capabilities. If she ended up helping, the shifters’ fur was going to be standing on end. “Poor furry bastards. If they only knew what they were in for, they’d draw straws to see who has to drive with you!” 

 

************************************************************************ 

 

Fredo went strait to Lillian, fervently wishing he could forget the vampire at his back. Lillian looked at him questioningly. “Meng Die’s agreed to help,” he explained, rolling his eyes in a silent signal of disgust. Lillian grunted. She could well imagine the reception Fredo had gotten from the haughty vamp. 

 

“Thank you, Meng…” Lillian trailed off. The woman didn’t bother to acknowledge her presence, and without sparing her a glance simply sauntered by and stood at the head of the pack. 

 

Now there was someone who needed to be taken down a peg or two. She looked sardonically back at her fellow Rat. “God help me, Fredo, but I hope they rip her to shreds.” 

 

Fredo eyed her, an almost wistful look in his mercenary eyes. “Can I shift and take a bite too, if they do?” 

 

Lillian almost told him to go ahead. “No, you can’t, unfortunately. There’s a bigger issue than our bruised egos going on here.” 

 

“Maybe Jamil will then. I don’t think he’s going to take to her superior shit.” 

 

“Only if there’s a God in Heaven,” Lillian answered, her normally placid voice dripping with venom. 

 

They both turned hopeful eyes back to the wolves. 

 

************************************************************************** 

 

Meng Die’s eyes turned steely, as she faced down the beasts before her. Inwardly she sneered; true, wolves felt pleasant to her, their strength augmenting her own, their blood rich, their bodies beautiful and satisfying. But they were toys to be used and discarded, not equals as the Master claimed. Jean-Claude was soft, she was not. Feh; she knew how to lead. She was their mistress, and they were hers to command as much as they were Jean-Claude’s. They felt like pú rén, servants, whose existence as mere animals was to see to her needs and augment her power. If she had but a pack to command, it would have gone differently in San Francisco. 

 

“To me, my wolves,” she crooned commandingly, her hands stretched out before her as she stroked the air, weaving a soothing tapestry while she attempted to force her will and break their mesmerized gaze. Several of the weaker wolves blinked and staggered toward her, whining in indecision as their eyes crept back to Anita and Richard. ‘They dare look to others over her?’ Meng Die hissed in annoyance, and pushed more of her power at the wavering subordinates. Whines of pain quivered in several throats, and a few went to their knees in a gesture of supplication and attempt to ask forgiveness. 

 

Jamil stepped forward, with the other alpha’s present. “Stop trying to bully them, Meng Die. We’re dominant enough to help you get their attention, and smart enough to make sure you don’t try anything underhanded. I don’t know what the hell Clay or Graham see in you, but don’t think I’m sex starved enough to allow you to pull the wool over my eyes.” 

 

She hissed back at him. “Fine. My attempts are solely aimed at saving your wolves' mangy hides. In this I obey my master; no more. I will see you all safely to the Circus, then you can rut like beasts for all I care.” She whirled back to the shifters, and flung even more power down the metaphysical lines that connected them as vampire and animal to call. Not to reward, but to punish, to shock their attention away from their ardeur soaked leaders and onto her. Jamil and the stronger wolves around him snarled in irritation at the stinging sensation crawling across their skin, but to alphas it was a minor irritation, but no more. The lesser wolves, however, shivered in pain, and snapped their eyes towards her, eyes rolled back in their heads as their body signals pleaded for a cessation to the hurt. 

 

Black fur loomed over her. “Damn it, that wasn’t called for!” Jamil growled, as he reached his clawed hands forward to wring her scrawny neck. 

 

Meng Die danced back out of reach. “Don’t be a fool, wolf. Are they enthralled with the ardeur, with Anita? No. I have done what I was asked to do, the only way it could be done. Deal with it, and get them loaded on the vans. I have no desire to stay here any longer than necessary baby sitting the master’s pets.”


	33. Chapter Thirty-Three

This is just weird,' Hector thought disconsolately to himself as he watched the taillights of the rival news van recede down the theatre's access road. He felt an indisputable compulsion to leave as well, but deep down he knew it wasn't right. There was a whopper of a story to be had here, a career making story, and they were just flat ignoring it. And damned if he could comprehend why.

 

And his partners in crime looked no wiser. They all were lost in their own thoughts, and he shot a guilty look to his co-workers as he sheepishly cleared his throat to get their attention. "Looks like Hugh and the rest of the Fox boys are calling it a night as well," was the feebly offered comment he could muster in their defense as he finished locking down the AV equipment. Matt had long since packed away his video camcorder, and was sitting sideways in the passenger side of the van, his brow furrowed in confusion as he kicked his feet morosely. The young cameraman looked about as puzzled as Hector felt, and twice as angry. The former Goddess Bitch Davenport, Queen of "get the story and worry about lawsuits later" had called them off, and was looking, for want of a better word, dreamy eyed about the whole fucked up affair.

 

Grasping at straws, Hector rationalized that maybe the boss lady was privy to something they weren't. In a last ditch effort to get a reasonable answer to their inaction, he asked, "Lyndsay, not that I have much motivation to do anything right now anyway, but can you please explain again why we aren't doing our jobs and shoving a microphone in some wounded guy's face?"

 

From the way Matt muttered mutinously from behind him, he wasn't the only one dazed and confused. Matt's rebellious voice muttered, "I just would like to know why all of a sudden I don't even give a fuck about my job! This was the story of a freaking lifetime, and I feel better about letting it slip away then I do about pursuing it!"

 

Lyndsay shrugged, used to their whining and completely disinterested in anything Thing One and Thing Two had to say. Truth be told, she was more then a little irritated that they interrupted her reverie yet again. "Have you two been smoking weed behind my back, that your short term memory brain cells are completely destroyed? For about the third time," she snorted derisively, holding up her beautifully manicured fingers to accent each point, "The reason we are pursuing this course of inaction is because the main story about the explosion and rescue is over with, and because we were asked to respect the privacy of the people involved, which we're going to on MY authority, and because I said so. As far as your pathetic lives go, the third `because' is really the only one that matters." She stared up the dark roadway, dismissing their objections as her mind drifted back to its previous occupation. "So where do you think that gorgeous vampire and the throwback went?" she mused quietly.

 

Matt gave a shudder, that spastic, all over body shake you do whenever you feel something alien crawling on your skin. "The creepy scarred dude? Don't know, and don't care. He scared the piss out of me. Why the hell are you interested?" A throaty cry startled him back to at least a semblance of alertness, and he rubbed the raised goosebumps across his arms in an effort to lay the small hairs back down. The vampires; it came from over by the vampires, he quickly realized. Jumping down out of the van, he jogged over to the police tape perimeter and craned his neck for a better look. "What the FUCK was that," he questioned, looking back at his co-workers for an explanation or affirmation. Unbelievably, they were staring at him like he had two heads.

 

"Aw, come on, what's WRONG with you guys? Are you telling me you didn't hear that eerie yell?" He felt a cold wind slither across his scalp. "You mean you can't FEEL that? SOMETHING'S going on!" Unbelievably, both Hector and Lyndsay were looking at him as though he'd gone insane. Desperate, he waved an arm in the direction of the shifted lycanthropes. "Look, it ain't just me! All the wolves are staring over at the vampires with their tongues hanging, and there's some primo porno shit going on over there! Look at that guy copping a feel on the Executioner!" He paused, as a random thought skittered across the back of his head. Porn, porn…something was nagging at him, but he just couldn't place his finger on it.

 

Not that it mattered, considering the lack of excitement he was generating with his minions. Lyndsay barely bothered to spare him a glance, and graced him with her bored `you're such a child' voice. "There's always some creepy shit that goes on when a feeding occurs. You're overreacting. Stop acting like a little girl. Or worse, like a horny teenager."

 

Matt couldn't believe his ears or ego, but he had to admit she was right. He was the only newsperson who had perked up and was paying attention. Desperate now to at least get an affirmation out of his boss, he wheedled her with logic. "Lyndsay, listen to me, please! There's action going down, I'm telling you! Look, why is everyone running? The RPIT guys, the coalition guy," he snapped his fingers in front of her frowning face. "Come on, boss, my Gypsy instincts are humming here!"

 

"You might be right," Davenport answered reluctantly, but rather then turning her attention to the vampires she was looking thoughtfully at the approaching DOC buses as she spoke, when he needed her to concentration on the melee around the Master of the City and the Executioner.

 

Matt let out an explosive breath anyway. Finally! At least she acknowledged the possibility of a story! "So, you want me to break out the camera?" he cajoled, reaching down to his case and starting to snap open the fasteners.

 

Startled by his actions, Lyndsay shot him an irritated look and an exaggerated eye roll. "What? No! What are you talking about? I want both of you in the van! Those vehicles have to be the transport for the wolves, and we're going to follow them."

 

Matt slammed his palm impotently on his case. Jesus wept, major weirdness happening at their fingertips, and she wanted to follow shifters? "What the hell for, Lynds? The story's over there, I'm telling you!" He didn't get it. Confused and foggy as he was, he could still tell the good money was on the vamps. He had a hard on; his dick always knew.

 

"Forgot point number three already? Because I said so, Matt," she answered brusquely, in her no nonsense, `I'm the boss' tone. "Where the hell do you stash away that many shifted lycanthropes, anyway? Don't they have to hunt or something? And maybe it'll lead us back to that golden haired vampire as well. I want to know why he took off like that."

 

They were blowing it, Matt knew they were, but it was out of his hands. And worse, she wanted to follow that bloody golden haired devil into hell. The burned vamp had done some freaky mojo to them all, he just knew it. The problem was trying to prove something without Hector's or Lyndsay's help.

 

Defeated, he held his hands up in surrender. "Whatever. I'll drive. Hector always gets made when we do this. At the very least let's try to make a story out of the furries."

 

*********************************************************************

 

Once a semblance of control had been restored, Richard wisely stepped back, affording himself some distance between himself and his trimates. Oddly, Micah drifted with him, a solidarity he never expected from the Nimir-Raj when it came to Anita. But the cat was opting apparently for discretion as well. Considering the orgy that he'd nearly unwittingly participated in, Richard empathized with his caution. The situation was still too volatile to risk his presence near the Nimir-Ra.

 

Because his Lupa stilled looked hungry. Predatory. He hated that quirk of preternatural side to her, but disliking it didn't make the ardeur go away, and ignoring it was proving to be a fatal mistake. Worse, what was it going to take to bring it back under control this night? Wasn't the near miss with Micah enough? He had to know what they were all up against. "How much more does it need to be feed?" was his cautious inquiry, half afraid of the answer he'd receive.

 

Jean-Claude ran tender fingertips along Anita's collarbones as he answered his wolf absently. "In order to assuage it for the moment? Not nearly as much as you fear. Enough where a distant feeding will keep it sufficiently at bay," Jean-Claude murmured, before turning his sole attention to his human servant.

 

Anita flinched at his touch, both physically and metaphysically, and the resulting sensation of joining. They done this before, and she knew what was required; it was just such an unpleasant task. Reluctantly, she dropped all semblance of shielding and allowed Jean-Claude to pull the sexual energy suffocating the tented grounds into her body to assuage the ardeur. Part of her brain registered the fact that Richard and Micah had drifted away, and she could feel her Ulfric shielding himself tighter then Fort Knox so as not to be pulled in. Normally his rejection would have cut her to the core, but she knew the pulling away wasn't to hurt, or to be spiteful. He'd proven to be the rock of Gibraltar in this metaphysical nightmare, and they could ill afford to have him sucked in as well;

not with that many human throats at stake, and with an entire audience of reporters and shaken up guests as unpleasant witnesses.

 

She understood what Jean-Claude was doing, this time, and slowly took over the distasteful task. It wasn't as painful as that first time, this feeding without touching, but it still was reminiscent of breathing a viscous liquid, of forcing nourishment into her starving body cell by cell. The ardeur growled at this meal, angry that the feast of a coital interlude with Micah had been wrest away to be replaced with the voyeuristic masturbation of a feeding without touch. Jean-Claude snarled against her lips, and she understood his dominance. `We are master here, Ma Petite. Never forget that; the ardeur would be as harsh a mistress as Belle otherwise. It will take what we offer, and no more.'

 

Shuddering, she opened her black on black eyes and peered deeply into his own midnight blue orbs, her lips softly stroking his as she nodded her head imperceptibly in mute agreement. It was not a feast, but it was sustenance, and until a safer time was reached, it was all the damned thing was going to get. Her senses wandered, and she was shocked to find that she could tune into those nourishing her, an embarrassing ability, as though she were flipping channels on an all porn cable network. Nathaniel burst into her consciousness first, in polychromatic clarity, the triumvirate links they shared making the feeding all that more intense and satisfying. His pleasure moaned across her skin, his uniquely familiar blend of love and submissiveness guilelessly opening to her as Alain drank in his life and artfully forced the wereleopard into a loop of intense climaxes that drenched her ardeur in a thick blanket of honey. `Love you', echoed in Anita's consciousness from Nat, an unabashed and wholly honest proclamation that brought a tightness to her chest.

 

Another partner niggled against her thoughts, as Damian made his presence and desires known to her. She closed her eyes and reveled in the feelings he and Violet offered, their mutual lust feeding her body while their love fed her soul. The dark haired vampire daintily sucking on Violet's wrist was superfluous, really; Damian had not permitted her to roll his beloved wereleopard, preferring to take Violet's mind himself. It mattered not to the ardeur, as long as there was lust to be devoured, but the rational part of Anita misted at the trust and companionship the two shared.

 

Her connections drifted then, as swift as Caleb with a remote control. Click. Merle was growling, his eyes grey cloudy with his suppressed beast, his groin arched into the air as he strained to his completion. Click. Zane and Cherry, separate feedings but one in the same, their hands and lips exploring each others' bodies as their healing vampires slowly flipped positions with their saviors, laying them gently on the ground as they sated their hunger and rewarded their erstwhile pommes with shuddering orgasms. Click. Halligan growled, his cigar falling from slack lips, his eyes rolled back in his head as his mind and body succumbed to the inevitable. Click. Zerbrowski clutched onto Byron's arm, his emotions a jumbled mass of confusion and amazement as he….

 

Anita jerked herself backwards, breaking the connection with the vampires and with Jean-Claude. The ardeur, while not completely satiated, was soothed enough to crawl back into its lair and allow her a momentary respite. A true feeding would need to be had, at the minimum before the next moon rise, but for now they were safe.

 

"Ma Petite?" Jean-Claude whispered gently, perplexed by her sudden withdrawal.

 

Anita shivered at the thought of sharing, however metaphysically, an orgasm with Zerbrowski. "No way, no how, Jean-Claude. Bad enough I just ardeur raped some of the people closest to me. I can't do that to Zee; not without bathing in bleach, inside and out. The ardeur got it's bone. It can gnaw on that for a while and let us all go home."

 

Jean-Claude's silky laugh slithered across her groin. "Ah, I must agree, Ma Petite. I could not look at the delightful Katie again having known her husbands innermost thoughts in that manner."

 

Anita raked her gaze over the slowly rising, and completely healed vampires as they all gently settled their donors comfortably to the ground and turned to their Masters for guidance. She graced Jean-Claude with a lopsided smile of her own. "Then can we go home now?"

 

*******************************************************************

 

Katie pulled herself into the bus, and gleefully settled into the driver's seat, her hands caressing the oversize steering wheel. `Oh, this was going to be fun,' she thought, chastising herself a little guiltily at the giddiness she was feeling. But hell, everyone kept underestimating her this night. Yes, it was an important function, but she was going to do this, and do it well. For her friends, and the people who'd help save her and Jason and Byron. "Ok, ignition, gas, brake, clutch…shoot, been a while for stick driving but these

babies ought to be built tough, right?" she asked Merlioni distractedly, wondering what some of the switches and gauges meant. She flipped one, and the monitor on the dash came to life, giving her a clear view of the seats behind. "Cool!" she murmured, infatuated with the control.

 

Merlioni brook into a cold sweat as he watched her become more and more animated about the task. This was a mistake; the Lieutenant would have his balls for letting his newly rescued wife do something so stupid. Besides, it was fair to the poor shifters either. "Mrs. Zerbrowski, I don't think this is a real good idea, letting you drive a bunch of werewolves over to the happy hunting ground of a bunch of vampires…"

 

Katie waved him off with a snort. "Don't be a Mother hen, Detective. Lions and tigers and wolves don't scare me anymore. Vampires don't scare me anyone. Humans are far more hurtful." She looked up, and her eyes widened. "Times up anyway. Looks like our passengers are here. And who else do we have to drive?"

 

Merlioni twisted his head into the doorway, and he let out a `but of course' sigh. Yep, she was right. The shifters had arrived, being led by a petite oriental hottie in leather. Damn scary little vampire, too. He didn't know who she was by sight, but he knew who the big black wolf was; Jamil, Richard Zeeman's bodyguard for the evening, and he looked less then thrilled at the moment. Not that he didn't have a reason, but then, scowling had been the dreadlocked black man's visage for most of the night. He jumped down from the cab to meet them halfway, before they reached the vehicles and his boss' wife.

 

Merlioni stuck a hand out, carefully squelching any thoughts he had on infections and gaining a moon driven furry curse. A wholly inappropriate thought entered his brain; if he was turned, at least he'd have equal monthly bitch footing with all the ladies in his life. "Jamil," he acknowledged, choosing to ignore the unknown female vampire in favor of a known quantity. "You guys ready? All we need is to rustle up some driver's and we can be on our way."

 

It was a tactical affront on his part, and one that the arrogant vampire was not about to let pass. Snarling, Meng Die slapped away Merlioni's proffered hand, pulling back only enough to prevent a break. He cried out, equal parts surprise and pain, and cradled his injured appendage to his body. He resisted the urge to go for his gun when he saw the look in her eye, and the absolute rage of Jamil.

 

Meng Die was livid at the human's disrespect. It was too much, the gall she had been forced to swallow from obvious inferiors. "You address me, mortal, not my beast. I am the one in control, and it is my will they obey. As shall you." She was still as she made this pronouncement, her dark eyes the only flash of emotion in her porcelain face. Arms crossed arms regally in front of her stomach, she awaited his acquiesce. Remembering his training, Merlioni quickened lowered his eyes, and was about to offer a less then polite response when a dark furred arm blurred out and unceremoniously back handed Meng Die to the ground.

 

Lips curled harshly back, Jamil stood over the stunned vampire. "Haughty and delusional as always, bitch. I'm not your beast, you aren't in charge, and the next time you lay a hand on anyone who's helped me or mine I'll rip your useless black heart out and feast on it," Jamil snarled, as he positioned himself in front of the humans, looming over her prostrate body.

 

Small cheers greeted his decree, and Lillian and Fredo high fived each other in delight. Meng Die languorously licked the blood from her bruised lips and with a quiet rage answered, "You will pay for that insolence, dog. I am your mistress; you and your groveling pack are mine to call." Her power crawled out and focused on Jamil, and he swayed slightly under the onslaught.

 

Only to brush it off with a barked laugh. "You don't have the juice, bitch. Now keep back, keep them calm, and stay the fuck out of everyone's way." Jamil had to give her credit; pinpricks of power once again burned against his skin, but he shrugged off the sensation with an evil snarl. "Nice try, but let's stop the games. Do as I say, or I'll tell my Ulfric exactly what you tried to do here with his Lukoi. If he doesn't shred you himself, I'll give you three guesses who he's going to tattle to?"

 

Meng Die's lily white complexion turned dusky with anxiety as she levitated to her feet. Were her Master to even get an intimation of her aspirations…."Very well, wolf. But as I said, hurry the process. I have no stomach to play nursemaid any longer." She stalked off to the side, near enough to control the submissive wolves, yet far enough away to placate the pack's Skoll.

 

Jamil deliberately pulled in his claws, and took several deep breaths until he felt the fur on his shoulders lay complacently flat. He could see the RPIT detective's eyes darting between him and Meng Die, and coolly noted the man's right hand laying expectantly on his unsnapped sidearm. He splayed his hands out in a conciliatory gesture, and quietly spoke.

 

"We shouldn't have any more issues, Detective."

 

Merlioni graced him with a quirked eyebrow. "Now, why would I think that? This entire night has exceeded my Snafu expectations. Why wouldn't I expect the 100th centipede shoe to drop?"

 

Jamil sighed. He wanted to laugh, but he was too damn tired, and all he craved was to hunt, shift, and sleep for a week. "As hard as this sounds, trust me. She won't be a problem, and all my people want to do is get the hell out of here. You said something about drivers?" he prompted, motioning Neal and the other Alphas to start loading the pack.

 

Merlioni removed his hand from his gun, but still kept himself on guard. Oddly, he did trust Jamil. It was Meng Die he trusted about as far as he could spit. "We thought it best to tell the DOC to hit the road, and now we're stuck. I can drive, but I really shouldn't leave my post since I'm the highest ranking RPIT officer. Katie's volunteered, but…"

 

Jamil smiled at that. He'd developed a healthy respect for the feisty cop's wife. "But what? I can shift and hold my own, but I somehow think a dreadlocked naked black man driving a bus full of shifted lycanthropes is gonna cause a scene. What's the hesitation? How bad can she be?"

 

Merlioni gave him a pity filled look. "You have no idea. Besides, I hate like hell to separate her from her husband now."

 

Jamil was about to retort that they had little choice, when it finally registered with him what the tune Katie was humming as she played with the knobs and steering wheel of the DOC transportation.

 

He turned his head towards the bus, his jawed comically agape and hi furry eyebrows arched in amazement. "Is she singing `The Wheels on the Bus go Round and Round?" he asked incredulously.

 

Merlioni sighed. Prying her from that bus was going to be a chore. He was going to have to pull the Zerbrowski card, he knew it. Besides, it was the right thing to do, keeping her here for her man. Safer, too. "Yes. Yes she is. Now, would you like me to tell you how many `off the record' moving violations she has? If it wasn't for Zerbrowski, she'd be taking public transportation. I can't believe he let's the children of his loins get into a moving vehicle with her. It's going to break her heart, because she wants to help you guys in the worse way, but I think you need to take your chances with your naked behind. I'll find you a pair of sweats or something."

 

Jamil shuddered, watching his trusting people get into Katie's bus. "Agreed." He centered himself, and prepared to shift back, when a voice pulled his eyes open.

 

Fredo piped up from behind, Lillian at his side. "Don't worry, wolf. You've got Rodere drivers for the others, too. Freebie, wolf. It was worth it to Lillian and I to watch you bitch slap that puta to the ground."

 

Lillian clucked her tongue in a motherly fashion. "I'd already told him he had to assist, Jamil. Don't let him make you think he's doing you a favor. But I have to agree; it was an enjoyable sight, and richly deserved by her! I'll get Katie back to her husband; you finish loading your people so you can be on your way."


	34. Chapter Thirty-Four

Zerbrowski gasped as he felt Byron's fangs slice into his veins. Fucking liars, because God damn, it hurt. A sharp, gripping pain that his body instantly rebelled against, his muscles clenching into a frightened and tense state that only succeeded in making the pain worse. It was a decidedly unpleasant sensation, to put it mildly, and it sure wasn't helped by the gross sucking noises that signified his body's blood loss as Byron drank greedily at his wrist. Unable to stop himself, he groaned aloud, and futilely gripped the curly locks of the vampire that was siphoning his life away in a vain attempt at self-preservation, even if his mind tried to reason with his instincts that he'd been promised no harm. Instinct won out, and slightly panicked, he pulled on Byron's hair as he succumbed to an age old atavistic desire for survival. At least it wasn't a completely wasted gesture, as he was rewarded with a stoppage of the blood letting as the boy's eyes opened, revealing deep grey eyes, eyes that he swiftly found himself engulfed in. They were the color of fog, of a damp roiling mist that confused and concealed and portended suffocating death for the unwary. Zee shivered in fear as his mind clamored that the eyes were wrong, no whites and no ending, just a well of grey, like a corpse's shroud enveloping his mind.

 

His heart raced in panic, and just as suddenly, calmed. He couldn't explain why, but the same eyes that had him practically screaming in terror now engendered a feeling of warmth and delight. He no longer felt any pain or fear, but an intense pleasure, a welcome replacement sensation that had him embarrassingly hard and in no time shivering on the edge of an orgasm. Completely confused and disoriented, he tried to wrench his eyes away, but to no avail; he was inexorably enveloped in their depths, and happily so. His consciousness idly registered the progression of Byron's eyes from feral, to human recognition, to humor as the vampire used his abilities to make the experience an unforgettable one for his savior.

 

Zerbrowski moaned, out of control and completely at the mercy of the pleasure coursing through his nerves, a stifled noise that was mercifully lost in the cacophony of voices that were announcing their own delight in varying degrees of volume. It was humiliating, this wanton feeling, but God help him, he didn't want it to stop. Vaguely he discerned words and voices; Jean-Claude's, a firm and authoritative anchor as the man tried to intervene in the inevitable. "Byron. Enough," the voice snarled, half amused and half angered by his underling's impudence. "You are healed; release the man. You owe him his honor for your life. Take no more, for his pride and your continued existence."

 

Peripherally, Zerbrowski appreciated the gesture, but it was too little, too late. He rocked back on his knees, groaning out an impious calling to his deity as he embarrassed himself by doing a bodily function he hadn't succumbed to since grade school, and his first hapless foray into the world of girls' breasts. He gritted his teeth in a last ditch effort to control the inevitable, but it wasn't to be; his pride and joy wasn't about to be denied and with a mind of its own took charge and brought Daddy home. Loudly. All semblance of decorum thrown to the wind, he vocalized his delight as he unceremoniously creamed his jeans in one of the most intense orgasms he'd ever had in his life.

 

And it wasn't with his wife.

 

It was with a vampire.

 

A very male, very gay vampire.

 

This was just going to call for therapy.

 

He fell back limply as Byron released him, a devilish smile on his adolescent looking lips. Attempting contrition, but sounding completely insincere, Byron exclaimed, "Sorry, ducky! I got a little carried away in the moment, I'm afraid. Caught up in the situation, I was. Completely unavoidable. But be honest," he cooed, leaning in to lick the slight trickle of blood that was still seeping from Zerbrowski's wrist. "Was it as good for you as it was for me?"

 

Jean-Claude hovered ominously over his impertinent underling, his hand snaking forward to unceremoniously smack the unrepentant stripper in the back of the head. "Byron, if it were not for the fact that you narrowly survived this catastrophe, all in the cause of

saving Katherine, I would lock you away for a month for your disobedience," he growled, one eyebrow raised in Gallic exasperation, his hand belying his anger as it surreptitiously soothed the blow with an inconspicuous caress.

 

Byron grinned cheekily up at Jean-Claude. "No harm, no foul, master! Just trying to make sure I caused no pain!"

 

**********************************************************************

 

Katie could hear Merlioni as he shouted last minute questions at the wererat drivers. "Are you sure you guys don't need any assistance from RPIT? What if you get pulled over?"

 

Fredo scoffed from the driver's seat of the idling bus. "If we get pulled over, G-man, it means you haven't been doing your job. Call ahead, let the locals know we have free access, and no one will bug us. And if they do, I'll have Jamil eat them and hide the evidence."

 

Merlioni clucked his tongue in irritation. Fucking shifters always thought they were invincible. "Funny, very funny, plague bearer," he quipped back in a caustic tone. Fredo curled a lip at the insult, but offered no further comments, content to leave the exchange at a stalemate. "I'm just saying is there's a POSSIBILITY of a cop being an asshole about you traveling through his district with a boat load of shifted wolves, even if I call it in ahead of time. Just take a RPIT cop with you who can flash a badge. It'll smooth the way. We can spare the manpower; bomb squad has long since cleared the guest cars, and they're leaving in droves. The only ones left are the vampires, your fellow shifters, and Firefighters and Police."

 

Staying out of the exchange, Katie leaned into Lillian and whisper, "He's being silly, you know. Why won't he just take someone like the Detective wants?"

 

Lillian gave a little all knowing smile. "Because he's young, male, alpha, and has learned not to trust cops. ANY cops, no matter how this night has gone. One evening doesn't change a lifetime of mistrust, and Fredo was never on the good side of the law, even before he was changed."

 

Katie crossed her arms belligerently under her breasts, and aggrieved expression on her face. "And THAT'S why I should have been allowed to drive as well, instead of being dragged out and tossed to the curb like a red-haired step-child. I could have helped if they were pulled over, since I'm the head of RPIT's wife."

 

Lillian scrunched her face up as she turned back to Katie. "Ok, I'm not getting the red-haired stepchild comparison here, but you darn right well know you were tossed off the bus because no one wanted to take you away from your husband after the night you've had, and they were all terrorized of your driving abilities." Lillian held up a forestalling hand at Katie's outraged expression. "Fine, I'll grant you the fact that your lack of automobile skills was ALL second hand knowledge, but you certainly didn't help your case much by asking Jamil if it REALLY mattered if you missed second gear." Lillian started as the DOC vehicles roared to life and slowly eased their way out of the Theatre's parking lot. "Besides, it looks like they've come to an agreement and are on their way. No need for you to get involved again."

 

Katie sighed next to Lillian as they both watched Merlioni wave goodbye to the departing buses and jog back to the command tent. "I just wanted to help, Lillian. I owe them; Jason, all the ones who dug them out. I owe them."

 

Lillian rubbed Katie between her shoulder blades consolingly. She understood the woman's desire to payback a debt; no, she chided herself. Not a debt. An obligation to new found friends. "I know, Katie. Truly I do. But it wasn't the right move for you to leave. Besides, you need to be by your husband. You know, the man who's been worried sick, and is now offering his life's blood to save the one who saved you?"

 

Katie's eyes widened in alarm. She hadn't forgotten her beloved, but put that way, she certainly had neglected him in her zeal to assist her lunarly challenged friends. How could she be so cruel? "I haven't forgotten Zee, and I'd never abandon him, but it just seemed like...."

 

Lillian nodded sagely. "Like they were your kids in need?"

 

Katie looked askance at the shrewd older woman. Damn, but she could hit nails strait on the head. "Yeah. Like that. Like they'd just done something grown up and weren't sure how to deal with it."

 

The grey haired wererat looked Katie in the eye. "I won't lie to you. The pack's scared right now. They came out. Out of their comfortable lies, out of their hidden identities, and for who? You, and their Ulfric, and a fellow wolf in need. They are going to be nailed by their families, and jobs, and they'll need friends. Like you. But your husband needs you more right now. You're not a bad person to want to follow your motherly instincts, but those are grown men and women that just drove off in those buses."

 

Katie humphed as she let her gaze go back to the orgy in session that was the feeding area. "Looks like they aren't pleading for any kind of rescue over there if you ask me. In fact, it looks like they're having themselves a GRAND old time."

 

Lillian shushed her, her eyes sparking annoyance. "Now don't you start, Mrs. Zerbrowski. It's not like they went to a freak party, or any of them have bite scars all over their body. Yes, I won't lie; as I said, vampires can make it a VERY enjoyable experience. Do you really thing they'd get willing donors otherwise?" she scolded, and Katie cringed at her tone. "You should be happy at least that it wasn't a painful experience for him and the rest. Now stop being a distracted mother hen and go see to your man," she laughed, allowing the nights first merriment to enter her voice as she shoved the chagrined woman over to her husband.

 

***********************************************************************

 

Anita shook off the repulsive thought of feeding off of Zerbrowski's sexual release, and leaned into Jean-Claude's smiling embrace. Some bridges were never meant to be crossed, and that sure as hell had to rank in her top three of bridges. Zerbrowski was a co-worker, a confidante, and the idea of using him to feed the ardeur was just skin crawling. Hell, the mere thought of Zerbrowski having sex was revolting enough. She shivered, pushing closer into Jean-Claude's arms, a comfort gesture, and for the first time admitted that the thought of going home to the Circus was a welcome one in her mind. Closure was at hand. The succubus had relinquished it's insistent control, receding back into it's metaphysical lair. The reins of power she had, out of necessity, tapped and manipulated had run slack through her fingers, dissipating as the hunger was temporarily sated and the Kiss' wounded brought to health. Her eyes were still fever bright, but they were her eyes; the darkest brown, but rimmed with white and human. Tired, she licked her dry lips, the taffy flavor of the ardeur leaving a lingering cloying taste on her tongue. She watched Jean-Claude do the same, and wondered briefly what the vampire's oral experience was with the power that even after centuries, he still equated it with that tactile sense as well.

 

She gave a tired sigh, and whispered, "Is it actually over?"

 

Jean-Claude ran the cool pads of his fingers across her grimy cheek, a whisper soft sensation that immediately started her heart beating faster, a physical reminder that while the ardeur was temporarily laid to rest, it had not be feed to it's complete satisfaction. "Oui, Ma Petite. My flock is well, the humans and weres are well, and it's time to go home. We all have had enough of this distasteful evening. There is adequate time to get them home and settled, and barely enough time to allow me to finish what we have started. Tomorrow we shall celebrate the living and mourn the fallen."

 

Nodding her agreement, Anita shivered at his words, her own desires and lust kindling for the man she loved. Hers, not a preternatural induced lust. She saw the same in his eyes as well. It was long past the time for them to go home.

 

A slightly annoyed, very masculine voice coughed behind them. Anita knew who it was without turning; knew it without her eyes, without the marks that he was studiously keeping slammed shut between them. Richard. She swiveled her neck around and took him in; all of him, and her heart swelled in an emotion she hadn't felt towards her Ulfric in a very long time. Not love; she'd never really stopped feeling that for him, even when she loathed him. But pride. Pride and respect. He still hadn't shifted, a ready indication of his acceptance this night, and his wolf form made her heart pound all the harder. Truth be told, it always did, even when she'd run from it. Even when she'd pushed him away. She reached out towards him, more an inclusive gesture for their Triumvirate than a sexual urging, but he shook his head and maintained the distance he'd adopted when the ardeur had nearly suffocated them all.

 

"It's OK, Anita. I know where the two of you are heading, and more power to you. I don't like feeding it, you know I don't, so there's no need to feel bad about what you're planning on doing. Still can feel you through marks, people, even if I'm shielding." Richard curled his snout in a semblance of a smile, and jerked his chin encouragingly in the direction of the rising vampires. "I'm going to help Micah with the shifters that donated, and get them over to the Circus with the rest of the Pack. They should be alright to drive themselves, but I'll arrange rides if they can't. I also want to make sure that everyone else who let themselves be fed on is settled as well, or at least make sure RPIT and the remaining fire crews are comfortable with the task. And then I need to scare up some clothes and shift back. Not a hell of a lot to do when you think of what else has gone on the past couple hours." His tongue lolled out of his mouth, an amused expression that had Anita smiling fondly. "You two take care of the vampires; I'll make sure the rest is taken care of. I'll see you back at the Circus. Maybe."

 

Anita reached out to him anyway, and for once, Richard didn't keep pulling back. She embraced him, burrowing her face into his chest fur, her hands relishing the softness of his pelt as she ran them up and down his back in a familiar, possessive way.

 

"You did good tonight, Richard, but are you truly ok with it? Not just about this," she asked, her eyes canting sideways to indicate Jean-Claude. "But about everything. All of it," she continued, her sweeping hands indicating his changed status and the remaining news people. "You need to be with us, Richard. You need to be with your family."

 

Richard gently mouthed her throat, and she obligingly, trustingly, leaned her head back and allowed him to do so. He growled softly in her ear, his voice thickened by the wolf form he still maintained. "Crazy as it is, I'm fine, Anita. Better then I've been in a long time, and my life is moving forward on my terms and no one else's. I'll be there, at the Circus, with the rest of our people. I may even be there with you as well. Who knows. One step at a time, and cut me some slack, woman. I just took are really, really big one tonight."

 

Anita laughed and pulled away, in time to see Jean-Claude step away from Byron and Zerbrowski, and start the task of organizing some of the stronger vampires to flight, weaker ones in arms. She frowned at the sight of a bruised and slightly mussed Meng-die meekly obeying her less than pleased Master's commands. That blood sucking bitch was trouble, but she looked cowed enough for the moment, and that was a trouble that was going to have to wait its turn. "Whenever you're ready Richard. What we have is a real relationship, Richard; fucked up and intertwined as it is, it's still a relationship. I cherish it. And I'm thinking you're starting to as well." She gave him an affectionate smile, then turned and started back to Jean-Claude.

 

"That's all well and good for your people, Jean-Claude, but guess again if you think you're flying me home that way as well. There's a perfectly good limo over there just begging to be used, and I don't care if I'm driving it myself. That's my ticket home. Anyone else with me?"

 

**********************************************************************

 

Shit. Fuck. Damn.

 

Halligan drew a shaky hand across his sweat soaked faced, his thoughts racing as fast as his heart as he tried to rationalize the fact that he'd just gotten spectacularly off from a vampire feeding on him. He ought to feel disgusted with himself, but damn, it had been a good feeling. He should have known, seeing Fitzgerald, but no. Fitz was a kid, a twenty something walking hard on with no control, He'd be the one in charge, or at least that's what he thought as the first shivers of pleasure began to thrum throughout his body. He'd handle it like a man.

 

Well shit if he didn't, sticky underwear and all. Thank God for safety overalls; you could piss in them if you had to, and no one would be the wiser, except for the smell. At least there weren't any telltale stains.

 

He reached into his shirt pocket and drew out his last cigar. Sheepish movement from the people all around him let him know they were alright, and in the same boat as he was. Rolling over on his side, the vampire he'd saved gave a chaste kiss to his cheek, and liquidly rose and wandered off to her Master. Halligan made eye contact with Merle, the tough wereleopard who had insisted on being by his side through the feeding. The grizzled, grey haired biker looked about as good as he felt, his face slack with pleasure as he languidly licked the seeping blood from his puncture wounds. He was quick to pick up on the fireman's attention, and asked distractedly, "Something you need, firefighter?"

 

Halligan held up his stogie companionably. "Yeah, there is. You got a light, Harley man?"

 

Merle grinned, and sniffed expressively. "Thought you didn't smoke. Or do you always need a dash of after sex nicotine?"

 

Halligan, for what had to be about the hundredth time that night, flipped him off. He was going to have to hit the confessional with all the impious talk, thoughts, and gestures he'd thrown around. Not that he was a card carrier or anything, but hell, why take chances. "It was, I do, and if you know what's good for you you'll shut the fuck up and give me a light." Merle laughed as he leaned forward, his lighter blazing as he waited patiently for Halligan to puff his cigar to life.

 

Halligan gave a contented sigh. "Damn, but nothing beats that taste." He eyed the smirking wereleopard in annoyance. "Don't give me that look. Like you didn't just ejaculate all over your Levi's."

 

Merle pulled the half smoked cigar he'd saved out of his pocket a lit up. "Nope. Sorry. But Shifters have more control, at least the one's who have the biggest balls, anyway. But don't feel bad, you're only."

 

Halligan clamped down hard on his smoke, his jaw jutting out aggressively towards his companion. "Don't say it. Don't you fucking say it, I already know. I'm human. Thanks. I get it." A calculating gleam settled across his eyes. "But I'm Irish human. You may not get lung cancer, you may not get cirrhosis of the liver, hell, you probably don't have to watch your cholesterol you meat eating son of a bitch, but by God I can drink you under a table. At some point, it's gonna be you, me, and a couple bottles of Jamison's."

 

"Whatever, Fire guy. But you may want to research Lycanthrope metabolism before you call in that challenge."

 

********************************************************************

 

Katie picked her way gingerly across the parking lot, mindful of stones and other debris. Her bruised and barely stocking clad feet had recently begun protesting the lack of protection of any variety, and colder night air was only exacerbating their sensitivity. Funny how she didn't notice the discomfort when she was in the thick of things; adrenaline and life or death situations will do that to you. But now, as she hobbled her way through the near barren lot looking for Zee, she would have sold her soul for a pair of fuzzy slippers to slip into. Her dogs were barking, and the cozy comfort would have been a welcome relief.

 

But the night was coming to an end. All she had to do was reunite with her husband�ah, there, with Micah. She smiled at the sight, the smaller, practically naked dark haired man crouched down next to her supine better half, checking Zee's wrist and shaking his head in a rather bemused fashion at something Zerbrowski was telling him. Lord knows how, but Micah must have sensed her coming, because he unerringly turned in her direction and waved her over. Had to be some sort of lycanthrope ESP, and she waved back cheerily and increased her speed to a geriatric hobble.

 

Only to notice Micah's nostril's flaring. Mortified, she casually rubbed her chin on her shoulder and took a deep whiff of herself, and winced as the reality of it set it. No ESP here. She stank. Hell, it wasn't that hard to believe that her deodorant would fail after the night she had. And him being a shifter and all.

 

Micah watched her antics and expressions and broke out into a wide grin. "No, it's not what you're thinking. Yes, I smelled you, but I have heightened senses as a shifter. Now come take care of your husband before he gets himself in trouble."

 

Great. That just meant while she may have smelled bad to mere mortals, she had to smell positively rancid to someone with more advanced olfactory abilities. Micah hugged her briefly before making his way over to his own people who had donated.

 

Zee gave her a lopsided grin from the ground. "Hey, Katie, where you been? Come here and give me some loving," he crooned, holding his arms out like a toddler begging to be picked up.

 

"I was helping out the shifted wolves. I almost got to drive them to the Circus, but someone," she scolded, looking accusingly at her man, "has been spreading malicious lies about my driving ability!"

 

Zee laughed, then hiccupped. "No lies. The poor bastards narrowly escaped. Your tickets and near tickets speak for themselves. Do you have any idea how many favors I owe because of them?" His face fell suddenly, his eyes widening in an owlish look of sorrow. "You were leaving me?"

 

"Never! I just thought they needed help, the poor things, and since they helped rescue me�" She shrugged and knelt down beside him. "I was assured you were safe. And you know that nothing could have stopped me from coming back here to you."

 

Zee lunged suddenly, enveloping his wife in a bear hug and a sloppy kiss, his hands roaming along her body. Laughing, Katie pushed back from the rather enthusiastic embrace and kiss from her prostrate husband and exclaimed, "Damn, Zee, I didn't think you'd have any energy! Do we need to find a van or something? What the heck happened here when Byron fed?" Reflexively, Zerbrowski's hands darted down to cover the damp spot on the crotch of his pants. Katie bit her lower lip to keep from laughing out loud as she realized what he was trying to hide, and shook her head. "Come on, husband, you think I didn't see? It's OK. Lillian explained to me that it's a rather pleasant sensation, if the vampire wants to make it one. And apparently, Byron wanted to make it one."

 

Zerbrowski winced, still acting like he was slightly inebriated, but his mind was tracking none the less. "Katie, please, show a little mercy here. I'm having rationalization issues as it is. My only salvation is the rest of the boys were in my same boat. It'll be our little secret."

 

Katie went white at the mention of secrets. In all the hullabaloo after being freed, she'd forgotten about a certain confidence of Zee's she'd let out. For a good cause, but it was only going to freak out the man even further. Considering the somewhat goofy mood Zee was in, now might be an opportune time to spill the beans.

 

Hesitantly, she began to do some damage control. "Umm, Zee, you know I love you right? And would never do anything to hurt your, or betray a trust, unless it was absolutely necessary?"

 

Zerbrowski knew he was a little blood drunk from the feeding, and while it felt wonderful it also made his brain a little fuzzy, like he was a third of the way to a really good bender. Because he wasn't following where Katie was going with this at all. "Course I do, Katie girl. But I just told you about this secret, and really, everyone here knows anyway, so I'm not following you here."

 

Katie rocked back on her heels and guiltily settled herself onto her butt, carefully folding what was left of her dress around her thighs to protect her honor. She enfolded her calves with her arms, and began to rush out an explanation. "It's like this, Zee. When Jason and I were trapped, he was a bit panicky and manic, especially when rescue started getting close, so I had to do SOMETHING to keep him occupied so he wouldn't hurt himself. I HAD to, Zee! I mean, I owe the boy, and more then that, I'm fond of him like a kid brother."

 

Zerbrowski blinked rapidly, and shook his head to try to increase his concentration. "Katie, you're talking WAY to fast for my brain right now. Ok, you had to calm him down. What's that got to do with me?"

 

She moaned as the moment of truth arrived. "I started a guessing game with him," she confessed. "A guessing game that involved you."

 

Nope. Still not making sense, Zee thought to himself. "What the hell could you have had him guessing about me that�.." He paled, his already slightly ashen face going white as the sheer horror of the reality of what she'd been beating around the bush about hit him. 

 

"YOU DIDN'T!"

 

Katie nodded mutely. "I did. I'm sorry, Zee. I was out of options. It had to be done."

 

Aghast, and now completely sober, he exclaimed, "MY NAME? You used my first NAME? Jesus, woman, did he GUESS? Did you tell him?"

 

Katie flinched, and shrugged her shoulders helplessly. "He's a bright boy, Zee. He guessed it with only three questions. And I swore I'd tell him the truth if he did, soo.”

 

Zee groaned and covered his face with his hands. "Furball! Why did it have to be that little smart ass? Jesus, Katie, just put a knife in my heart. He's never gonna let this one drop." Damage control. He had to think up some damage control. "Well, at least it's only one person. I can make him keep his mouth shut about it. I'll get to him first thing." He paused as he realized Katie was hunching her head deeper into her shoulders and nawing her lower lip in a bit of an `Oops" gesture."

 

He groaned dramatically. "Who else?"

 

"Only Micah! I promise you that! And he's a good guy, he won't tell!"


	35. Chapter Thirty-Five

Richard strode away from his Lupa, Anita's taste lingering as a familiar comfort on his tongue from his mouthing of her throat. He left the marks open, and the connection was no longer an intrusion but a reassuring support. It was over. Finally. The fat lady had sung, and now it was time to clean up and crash with his pack at the Circus. They were going to need him; hell, they were going to need each other. Tomorrow was going to come soon enough, and then the repercussions and damage control would begin.

 

He shrugged mentally. Let tomorrow come.

 

But there was still some work to do. The vampires may have been dealt with and heading home, but his attention was needed to the remaining task; finding Micah and getting the human and lycanthrope blood donors taken care of and on their way home as well. It was easy to spot the wereleopard. As usual, the Furry Coalition leader was in the thick of it, moving from shifter to shifter, a word here, a pat there, making sure everyone was settled and recuperating, even though he had just been used as cattle himself. Richard respected the job Micah did. Used to be a time that he thought the man to be a boy scout and yes-man. Ok, to be honest, he thought him pussy whipped, but hell, that had been his Alpha ego in play, among other things. Used to think a lot of things, until tonight revised his estimate of life in general quite a bit.

 

He watched Micah settle Zerbrowski comfortably, pushing the man to lie down and elevating his wrist to help with the bleeding. Richard spotted Katie Zerbrowski making her way back over about the same time Micah did, and he smiled as Micah gently took his leave and made his way over.

 

Still glowing with discretion, he chose to be non-committal, not wanting Micah to feel like he was stomping on his Coalition turf. "Everything under control? You need me to do anything?"

 

Micah gave him his patented calm smile, the one that was borderline inscrutable in its meaning. The one he wore practically every time he saw him. Richard could never tell if it was a learned forced placidness from dealing with a succession of crazies, or if the man was just that laid back. "Pretty much so," Micah commented in return. "I left Zerbrowski in what I can only figure will be the tender care of his wife. Merle bonded with the firefighters, and is going to make sure they, and the rest of the cops deal and get out of here OK. Cherry has revised her estimation of feedings in general, and Zane is gleefully considering the future possibilities of a career as a Pomme. All and all, as endings go, this one wasn't bad."

 

Richard barked a laugh as he made up his mind about the Nimir-Raj. The man was just that amiable. Looking down at himself, he curled his lips at his shifted form. It was time to change back if he expected to help drive people home.

 

"You got any pants? I want to shift back, and then I'll help get a caravan organized. I'm guessing we only have to deal with our people?"

 

Micah nodded. "I'd say so. Not all the RPIT people, or firefighters for that matter, donated, so once the ones who did are up and walking they can take care of their own. I'm sure someone has emergency clothes in their trunks. Let's check with Merle and Zane; you should hopefully fit in something of theirs. Micah eyed Richard critically. "Well, Merle's anyway; Zane likes baggy but that might still be a stretch considering you're a big man even shifted back."

 

Richard lolled a wolf grin at him, and Micah relaxed a moment, comfortable enough to stand companionably by Richard's side, happy that for once the two of them could have a civil conversation without the underlying stress. Smaller in statue, almost dwarfed by the taller man, he nonetheless knew he gave an aura of equality, their power almost evenly matched without the tri's influence.

 

Maybe he could be an ally in another little situation he had. "So you're going back to the Circus?" Micah asked casually.

 

"Yes," Richard answered, reinforcing his answer with an emphatic nod. "Most of my wolves will crash there, and after a night like this they'll need the comfort and security of my presence. How about you? Are you joining Anita in her little limo of freedom?"

 

Micah out and out laughed at that one. "I caught some of that conversation. I didn't think she'd fly. Glad to hear you'll be there. The pard may join you, depending on their preferences, and I'll be there, depending on Anita's needs. But I have a favor to ask."

 

Richard whooped out, "A little whipp…" but never got a chance to finish the thought, as a black furred hand blurred and covered his mouth, stiletto claws tapping lightly at his cheeks. In the back of his mind, Richard noted with respect the quick partial change. Micah definitely `had skills', as his kids liked to say.

 

"Be civil. It'll cost you to finish that sentence. Anita will probably want to be with the pack as Lupa, as well. But she has an obligation to the leopards as Nimir-Ra. If the pard chooses to go home to Anita's, she'll feel compelled to see to the Blooddrinker's clan as well, and I'll be there to take her home after she's finished feeding the ardeur properly with Jean-Claude. But also have an ulterior motive for wanting to get to the Circus. I need to see Jason and put a bit of the fear of God in him before he wakes."

 

Richard sobered up. Jason was his, and while he trusted Micah, he wasn't about to let him at one of his wolves without knowing what he intended. "You know I'll need an explanation first."

 

Micah shrugged apologetically. "I can't, not completely."

 

Richard shook his head. "Not good enough."

 

"I saved his life, Ulfric," Micah countered. "Do you think I'd do something to harm him? He just found out something that he can hold over a mutual friend, and I want to help counter it. Nothing evil, nothing earth shattering. Just embarrassing."

 

Richard scowled, then slowly relented. Micah wouldn't do anything underhanded, and it was really only curiosity that was poking him to insist on the full story. "I really have no argument against it, Micah. No good one anyway. And I'd hate like hell to have that prankster have one up on me. I just need to know what you intend first."

 

"No problem. And I'll tell you the whole story, because I think I'm going to need your authority to make this stick as well. He was having a fit about being dragged out naked, and I want to play against that with him. Make him think we have something on him, something he wouldn't want out and in play. Don't have it all fleshed out, but here's my basic idea," he finished, beckoning Richard to lean down and listen.

 

************************************************************************

 

Gregory hovered in the shadows, his tail and whiskers twitching with uncertainly. Mistress Paramedic had just done her part for the blood cause, and was recuperating with the others around the portable heaters the firefighters had brought. The entire pard had

contributed, and he could see his brother off to the side with his lover Vivian, carefully nurturing her after her donation. Stephen in wolf form was imposing, at least by human standards, and the petite wereleopard had not shifted after opening a vein for one of the rescued vamps.

 

He felt odd; his heart was empty, pounding with a vaguely dissatisfied need. Aching with a longing he couldn't understand, and a jealousy he refused to acknowledge, he hugged his arms around his chest as he watched Stephen cradle Vivian in his arms, her limp and tired body nestled warmly against his chest, one clawed hand delicately holding a plastic bottle of juice to her lips while his free hand rubbed soothingly across her stomach.

 

Stephen's surprised observation, `My brother has a girlfriend!' had been on a permanent loop in his brain the whole night. He'd denied it; they'd barely talked, let alone done anything fun, so he couldn't figure how Stephen thought they were a couple. Hell, even if he hadn't been a shifter, what would she want with a former whore turned stripper like him? It was stupid. Impossible. Not happening, not in a million years.

 

But he wanted it. Wanted what everyone else seemed to be getting for themselves, wanted for once in his life to have someone outside of his brother love him. Maybe Stephen was right. Maybe there was a relationship ring within his grasp. Grabbing a juice container, he steeled himself and made his way over. Maybe it was time to take a chance.

 

He found Patricia lay off to the side, her wrist elevated to stop the bleeding, her eyes masked by drooping lids. Alone, like him. Damn it, she'd helped Sylvie, and others, and she deserved more than just being shunted aside and ignored, he decided silently to himself. And he was just the man to give her what she needed.

************************************************************************

 

Patricia didn't know what to think. She felt tired, a sated exhaustion that had more to do with sensation then blood loss. The feeding had thrown her for a loop, a dizzying giddy loop that had settled dead center in her crotch. She didn't know what she'd expected; she'd heard the stories, but chalked most of it up to hyperbole by supernatural groupies. She'd volunteered out of a sense of obligation, of doing the right thing. No different then donating a pint in the aftermath of a catastrophe. She hadn't expected to enjoy the whole experience. She hadn't expected the sex. You don't feel the urge to turn to a Red Cross nurse and ask, "Was it good for you?" after they take the IV out.

 

She let her eyes droop tiredly. What a long, strange trip her night had been.

 

Her introspection was short lived as she felt something furred close around her bandaged wrist. She jerked away in reflection, and her startled eyes flew open to stare into pale gold ones. Pale gold with blue flecks, set in a beautiful butter yellow face dotted with black rosettes. Gregory. Her eyes widened slightly, and she could feel her heart thumping away in apprehension. She was too vulnerable right now.

 

When in doubt, go for bravado. You might die anyway, but at least you go with a sense of pride. Putting as much bored derision as she could in her voice, she challenged, "Come to get your revenge for my smacking you in the tight little ass?"

 

Gregory flinched. He could smell the fear on her, and was trying to squelch the enjoyment it was giving his beast, but her tone belied her scent. Oh, for fucks sake, she was mad, and that wasn't what he wanted. He fumbled an answer, flustered by his own confused feelings and the dominating tone of her voice. "What? No! You just looked too tired to hold your arm up like that, so I came to help. Just relax; I'll be careful with you. Oh, and here's some juice. Everyone else seems to be drinking it, so I thought maybe you should too." He stopped babbling abruptly as the last part of her sentence sunk in.

 

Thunderstruck, he cocked his head and practically yelped, "You think my ass is tight?"

 

Patricia rolled her eyes at the flabbergasted look on the kitty cat's face. Oh, he definitely was a bright one. Have to get up pretty early in the morning to get one by him, but damn, he was cute when he was trying to be sweet and not an asshole. "My hero. And yes, I think your butt is lip licking, cop a feel worthy, at least in this form." She giggled at the thought. Maybe the blood loss was worse than she imagined.

 

Gregory rocked back on his heels, careful to keep her arm gently elevated, using only the pads of his fingertips and his claws sheathed and out of harms way. She might just be rolled, but he was giddy at the thought that she called him her hero and was attracted to him. He held the juice to her lips, trying to encourage her to drink. "Here, you need this. You have to replace the lost fluids. Everyone else who donated is sucking it down."

 

Inexperienced at nurturing, he tilted the bottle a little too enthusiastically, and Patricia coughed a little as the liquid gushed into her mouth faster than she could swallow. Orange juice dribbled down the sides of her face, and chagrined at his stupidity, he reflexively leaned in and licked the juice away, his long tongue bathing her cheeks and throat.

 

Not one to get a lot of pampering in her life, Patricia closed her eyes in sheer enjoyment at the attention. The raspy feeling of his tongue on her overly sensitized skin was heavenly, and she drifted slightly with the mind numbing pleasure. She hadn't felt this relaxed since the time she'd treated herself to a massage, and she reached up to pet his chest in thanks, and was rewarded with a palm tickling vibration as he purred his contentment at her rhythmic strokes. She was happy, he was happy, all was right in their little slice of the universe.

 

Until an annoyed, edgy voice sounded from the distance. "Gregory, what the hell do you think you're doing? Get away from her!"

 

She felt his hand clench convulsively tighter around her wrist, and her eyes flew open in time to watch his ears flatten defensively. "I'm not doing anything wrong, Anita. I'm just trying to help."

 

Ah, Anita. The oddly intimidating woman had questioned her earlier about their first encounter. There was a connection there, between her and Gregory. She'd used a very possessive phrase; what had HER wereleopard done? Patricia stiffened as she watched Anita stalk over, her face narrowed in worry and anger. She couldn't figure it; all the leopard had done was bring her some juice. She felt compelled to take charge and diffuse the situation. To protect Gregory.

 

She raised her voice so that she could be heard. "It's ok, he's fine. He's just playing nursemaid to me." She didn't like the wereleopard's reaction. He'd sunk lower at Anita's approach, his head submissively hunched down between his shoulders. But he still kept her arm upraised, a fact she was grateful for. It was achingly hard to maintain that elevation as spent as she was.

 

Anita stopped next to Patricia's shoulder, and gave a hard look to the two of them. She had been set to leave with the Limo; Jean-Claude had flown off with the others, and she was doing a last sweep to check assure herself that all was well and to offer anyone was who was ready a ride. Then she'd spotted one of her problem children. Greg had some definite sadistic tendencies, and she had panicked at the sight of him licking the helpless paramedic. "Gregory, so help me, if you're getting off on her fear scent…."

 

Gregory snarled in response, appalled and afraid that the paramedic understood what his Nimir-Ra was implying. "Can't you ever cut me some slack, Anita? I just brought her juice over, and I'm holding up her arm to help. I told you, I'm not doing anything wrong." He silently sent her a plea with his eyes. Don't. Don't mess this up for me. I'm not being a shit; I really kind of like her.

 

Startled, Anita was taken back by the look in his eyes and his tone. She'd saved him from some pretty gruesome predicaments in the past, but this was different somehow. It was sincere, and personal. She took a deep breath and made a conscious effort to rein her anxiety in. "Since when does bringing over some juice involve washing her like a mother cat?"

 

Patricia piped up before Gregory had a chance to answer. "Since he accidentally spilled it all over me and lacking any towels was cleaning up the sticky mess. A gesture I happened to be enjoying the hell out of until you huffed and puffed your way in and interrupted," she replied caustically, not even trying to hide the irritation in her voice. "Also, we were discussing Greg's butt as well, which might have thrown his gracefulness off a bit. So cut him some slack, please." Patricia was a little surprised at how protective she was feeling, but damn it, she was getting A-one attention and that woman had ruined her moment.

 

Anita arched an amazed eyebrow and kept her peace for the moment. Curiouser and curiouser, she thought. Not the first time she'd done this, and probably not the last, but she had obviously misread the whole situation, and it was time to back away gracefully. It was fast looking like Dougherty was as intrigued with Gregory as Gregory was with her. She bowed her head, a ghost of a smile at the corners of her mouth. "My apologies to the both of you then. I'll leave you to your discussion of Gregory's ass and his nursing abilities." She turned a happy grin to her cat before taking her leave. "Greg? Good luck, and don't blow this."

 

Gregory was stunned. His Nimir-Ra understood? And gave her blessing? Hell, maybe it was a night for miracles, he mused. He eyed Anita's retreating back for a second, then looked back down at Patricia. She was staring at him calmly, contentedly. Ok, a little lasciviously, but in fairness she was still basking in the glow of a good vampire feed.

 

He wanted a chance with her, but if this was going to have any possibility of working, he was going to have to be brutally honest with her. And himself. "I'm a stripper, you know," he blurted out. "At Guilty Pleasures."

 

Patricia shrugged nonchalantly, her slightly unfocussed eyes uncaring of his confession. "So Nathaniel said. Make a lot of tips, do you?"

 

Damn straight he did. Honesty aside, he did have his pride. He licked his lips suggestively. "Yeah, I do. I'm one of the headliners. Why don't you come over and see one night?"

 

Patricia snorted, and held his eyes possessively. "Not likely. I doubt I'd be very tolerant of a bunch of middle aged women shoving money down my boyfriend's g-string. Understand this - anything you do for me is going to be a private dance, Leopard boy."

 

Completely stunned, Greg shivered in delight at her words. `My boyfriend?' She called me her boyfriend; hell, even sounded possessive about it? Was she that out of it, or did she really mean it? Part of him scoffed at the emotion she was showing him; no one could want him like that. She didn't know who he was, really. What he was. What he looked like. "You've never ever seen me in human form," he protested hotly. He was out of his element, and he knew it. What were you supposed to do next? Ask her on a formal date? No! Idiot, you have to get her number!

 

Ducking his head slightly, he stammered, "I don't even have your phone number yet, or anything. Isn't that how this moves forward? You give me your phone number?"

 

Patricia rolled her eyes and giggled at him. Damn, this was like a really pleasant drunk, and she was enjoying Gregory's consternation immensely. That boy needed someone to take charge in his life, that much was obvious. And she was just the woman to do it, too. "Are you some sort of," she paused and thought hard, intent on having the word come out correctly, "marsupial leopard or something?" She beamed, proud of herself. That came out correct, and unslurred.

 

Gregory's whiskers and nose twitched in confusion, and embarrassment. He was missing something here, something important, and it felt like he was about to be made fun of. "I don't get it."

 

She rolled her eyes dramatically, then decided that was an unwary gesture to make as the tent began to spin. "Well, it's either that or you have a photographic memory. `Cause I can write my cell number down for you, but you don't exactly have a pocket to slip it into, now do you?' She grinned at him lopsidedly, proud of herself and her deductive reasoning.

 

"Oh. Oh, shit!" Gregory cursed. Just great, what kind of idiot was he looking like now? He fell back on his only defense, the one thing that always supported him in the past. His anger. "Well, isn't that special. I come over and try to be nice, bring you something to drink; hell, I even brave the wrath of Anita, and you offer a fucking lousy cell phone number. Why don't you just blow me off or something? Why give me a number to just ignore my calls?"

 

Patricia blinked owl eyes at him. As inebriated as she was feeling, she still had that boy's number. Someone had hurt him badly in the past, and he instinctively motored to pissed off when he was scared or embarrassed. "Jumping to a mighty big conclusion there aren't you? You act like you're the only one taking a risk here. What if I give you my number, and sit around for days staring forlornly at my cell phone because you don't bother to call? Ever think of that?"

 

"I wouldn't do that!" he answered outraged. Did she think him stupid enough to pull a stunt on her like that?

 

She squinted her eyes seriously at him. "So why paint me up like I would? Is it so hard to believe I might like you, sight unseen?"

Gregory looked away, completely flummoxed. She had no fucking clue what sight unseen package she was getting with him, and she still was willing to like him. He was careful not to meet her gaze. Careful to keep her from seeing into his soul. His filthy, tainted soul. He couldn't understand it, this need he was feeling to have her love and acceptance. He never gave a flying fuck about it before; he knew he had kinks, and up to now hadn't cared what others thought of him.

 

He avoided her eyes as he made his final confession, not wanting to see them turn cold at his words. "Maybe it is hard to believe. Maybe I've done a lot of shit in my past, shit that wasn't very nice or mainstream. Shit that would probably make you run from me as fast and far as you could."

 

She gently pulled her wrist from his grip. All this time, through all the revelations, he'd never wavered in keeping her wrist elevated. That steadfast devotion wasn't lost on her, and said a lot about his personality. "Yeah, well, maybe I don't judge people only on their past. Maybe I judge on here and now, and here and now you seem like a nice enough guy. So you want to give this a shot or what?"

 

Gregory couldn't believe his ears, or his luck. He leaned down and rubbed his furred jowl against her shoulder. "Damn strait I do. Best offer I've had in years."

 

***********************************************************************

 

Lyndsay settled herself into the passenger seat, buckling in and grinning with excitement at the prospect of chasing down Asher. That vampire was the key to a good story, she just knew it; no one could be that enigmatic and beautiful and not be. All her earlier indecisions were gone. God only knew what exactly had just gone down, with the rescue, and the healing and feeding, and the howling, but she refrained from interfering and reporting on all of it. She felt righteously secure in that decision, even if she was a little hazy on the professional ethics of it. But she'd allowed the vampires and lycanthropes their privacy, every last blessed moment, except for the mass shifting. She'd broadcast that first, even if Matt and Hector seem to believe that was a poor sloppy second to the rest of the dramatics, like taking your cousin to the prom or kissing your brother.

 

She was startled out of her ruminations party by Hector's shouts from the back of the van. "Hey, Boss Lady! Station head on the cell, and he wants to talk to you, pronto!"

 

Well, maybe she'd have the ammunition to prove her crew wrong after all, Lyndsay smirked to herself. She knew she'd beat Fox with the werewolf footage, and hoped the man was calling her for a well deserved pat on the back.

 

She dipped into her bag of professional voices, and pulled out her clipped, in control one. "Davenport here," she said succinctly into the small mobile phone.

 

It was James, all right, and his voice was deceptively mild. "Davenport, do you know what I've been doing all night? Fielding phone calls."

Lyndsay paused, her instincts screaming out a danger warning. For a man about to extol her talent and intelligence, he sounded remarkably angry. "I figured, Mr. James. That footage was phenomenal and ground-breaking, and I knew I had to break in quickly to beat…"

 

He interrupted her self-congratulatory pat on the back with a clipped, "On whose authority?"

 

She paused, completely thrown off track. "Excuse me?"

 

James sighed dramatically, like he was patiently trying to make a child understand something. Very slowly he asked, "On whose authority did you interrupt the broadcast? Mine? The evening coordinator's?"

 

Warily, she answered, "I did it on my own judgment, Sir, and based on the number of phone calls your getting I'd say it was a home run."

 

"Really", he drawled sarcastically. "And what exactly do you think these people are calling about? No, don't interrupt me. I'll answer that for you. They are not complimenting us on an interrupted normal newscast for breaking news. Nor are they asking for more information about Lycanthropes, or the fire. No, Davenport, what they are calling about is to complain, loudly and angrily."

 

She gulped audibly, fully aware she was on dangerous career ground. "Complain? About what? I warned them about the graphic nature of the shifts.…"

 

He cut her short once more. "Nudity, Davenport. They are all incensed at the nudity."

 

"What?" Lyndsay stammered. Nudity, of all things?

 

James no longer bothered to mask his ire, and snarled back, "You heard me. Our viewing public, or should I say former viewing public since they all apparently intend to watch another channel in the future, is cross eyed with anger that we showed all the poor werewolves ding dongs and breasts on TV. Apparently we have no respect, decorum, or sympathy for the privacy of the poor people we plastered on their TV's."

 

There was only one word that adequately summed up the unforeseen development. "Fuck," she moaned expressively into the phone.

 

James agreed. "An apt word. Add an `ed' to it and it accurately describes your current job condition. Finish your on the scene report, and come to my office as soon as you get in. We have a lot to discuss, and the night isn't getting any younger."

 

"But Mr. James, I was about to follow a lead on…"

 

She was once again cut off. "I know you're not arguing with me, are you Davenport?" was the deceptively quiet response of the man who signed her paychecks. Or at least used to,

 

"No, sir."

 

"Good, Davenport. I'm anxiously awaiting your arrival. Trust me on that."

 

Dead air followed that final clipped comment. Hector and Matt we're desperately attempting to look anywhere but at her. Totally dejected, she stared out the car door window, and spotted Irving Griswold getting an interview with a RPIT detective, a blanket discretely wrapped around his waist. They were almost alone in the quickly emptying lot, as all the remaining fire trucks and blood donors cleared out and officially called it a night. But once again, that annoying little twit was coming out on top with the story. It wasn't fair; it just wasn't fucking fair. The narrative of a lifetime, and she might lose her job because of a bunch of naked werewolves.

 

So much for her Murrow.

 

Maybe the Master of the City would hire her as a press secretary.


	36. Chapter Thirty-Six

`Jesus, but I'm filthy,' Anita grimaced to herself as she absently ran her hands through the gritty, snarled mess that was currently passing as her hair, her nose wrinkling in disgust at the lingering reek of smoke that clung to her. She had the luxury to notice these small disruptions, now that the fiasco of the grand opening was over. Now that she was back at the Circus, in the relative security of Jean-Claude's boudoir, she wanted nothing more than a change of clothes, a bath, and more than anything else, to slip into the comfort of clean silken sheets, Jean-Claude at her side.

 

But first, a bath. There was no tiptoeing around it. She stank. And if it offended her, she could only imagine the distaste Jean-Claude was hiding. He was coolly controlled, not quite the stony stillness the oldest of vampires could manage, but she could tell he was being careful. Cautious. It confused her, this hesitancy, until she caught the glitter in his eyes, the lingering remnants of power from their joining that had proclaimed him Master of the City. Even aloof, he exuded a self-assured, regal bearing that couldn't be dampened by a layer of dirt and disheveled clothing. Her mouth dry, she watched as he settled on the edge of his massive bed, his long legs stretched out before him, his torso supported by his elbows as he slowly hung his head back and breathed an exaggerated sigh, and for the first time that long, excruciating evening, relaxed. Her pulse began to speed up, and she walked forward towards him, the compulsion to touch and assure herself that the night indeed had turned out well overwhelming. Seductively, she insinuated herself between his legs, and he obliged, rising up from his comfortable position and taking her into his arms.

 

She ran her hands lightly over his chest. "The kids all tucked away to your satisfaction?" she teased, knowing that he had seen to his vampires and wolves comfort first before retiring to his quarters. Just as she had. Just as Micah and Richard had. "Or is there a preternatural pillow fight taking place in the coffin room?"

 

He laughed at that implausible image. "Oui, Ma Petite. Those who had fed are still animated with the power, but I have no doubt that they will seek the comfort of their chambers as soon as the sun pulls at them."

 

He was enthralling, and she indulged her wolf, cradling her face in his chest, inhaling his intoxicating scent. No body odor, like her, the bastard; just the reptilian smell of vampire, and his signature cologne. One appealed to her necromancy, the other appealed to her. She raised her head to meet his eyes, anticipating the fulfillment of the promise made at the ruins of the club. The promise of love, of mind numbing sex to celebrate the saving of the lives and to keep the coming dawn at bay.

 

Irritated at her lack of focus, she pushed her libido down. Business first. Her expression hardening, she asked, "And Asher? Have you spoken to him?"

 

Jean-Claude nodded, a feral cast deepening the gleam in his eyes. "Claudia took him to see Raphael, and he has sworn safekeeping for him this dawn. I, and he, trust the Rat King to keep his word. They have gathered dossiers on all of the wererats involved in the maintaining and guarding of the Theatre. He will be doing the same for all of our employees, as well as visiting all the leaders in the preternatural community to see if they have heard anything."

 

Anita sighed in agreement. It was a start. "I'll talk to Zerbrowski. He'll be starting an investigation as well, and I can see if he'll share info." She thought for a moment, then offered, "I also have some contacts of my own that may help."

 

Jean-Claude's eyes narrowed. "It is Asher's and Claudia's duty, Ma Petite," he cautioned. "It would not bode well if the Executioner were to be prominently on the hunt. There are some who may, ah, feel too intimidated to speak freely in your presence."

 

She scoffed at his reasoning, giving him her best disgusted look. "And a six foot plus body builder sized wererat, accompanied by a pissed off Master Vampire with an attitude is going to inspire warm and fuzzy feelings?"

 

Jean-Claude smiled in triumph, and held up a lecturing finger. "Ah, but neither of them is the Executioner, the woman who slays errant little vampires and shifters. As lovely as you are, those you wish to speak with might be more inclined to flee then converse."

 

Disgruntled, she had to concede the point, especially since it would soon be common knowledge that she and those she loved had been the ultimate targets of the bombs. "Point taken, but I am glad Asher's moving quickly on this. Leads have a way of going cold fast." She held his eyes, wanting to see his thoughts as she asked the most important question of the night.

 

"Who, Jean-Claude? Who would have tried such a thing?"

 

He shrugged elegantly, that delightful Gallic expression that meant everything and nothing. "Who would not, Ma Petite? The powerful have always had rivals wishing to supplant them, and vampires cannot live for centuries without causing slights that need avenging. But is it enemies from within or without?" He shook his head speculatively. "I do not know for sure; there are forces that would benefit from our demise, other masters, the council. But it does not have the feel of an invasive attempt. It smacks of something closer."

 

She nodded slowly. It was her own conclusion as well; the explosion, who it was aimed at. It all felt so personal. "An internal betrayal then?"

 

"Oui. Or local." He pulled her back into his arms. "I have no doubt Asher will ferret the answer out. He will find the truth. It is what he does so very well." Suddenly cold, Anita pressed his length tighter to her body. If it was an inside job, until they found the culprits none of them was completely safe.

 

They stayed that way a moment, lost in their thoughts. She startled slightly when Jean-Claude whispered in her ear, "I have but one final obligation before retiring, though I feel as though the rising of the sun will not hold its normal sway as quickly for me this dawn."

 

Him leaving at that moment was definitely not on her agenda. "What's left to do?" 

 

He smiled at the small overtone of petulance in her voice. "I was referring to my Pomme de Sang. I would see with my own eyes that he is whole and fit. He did well this night, my brave wolf." Anita smiled back at him, recognizing the unabashed look of affection in his eyes. Many a time she'd seen that same look directed at her, albeit a smokier, sexier gleam than what he was showing at the mention of Jason.

 

She stood away from him then, understanding his need. "Faust said he had bathed him and tucked him in. But I know what you mean; we nearly lost him today, and you need to touch him to assure yourself he's fine. Go ahead; I'll keep the bed warm. Bring him here if you like. I'll be heading over to my cats as soon as you…." She trailed off. Go to sleep never quite fit, and she wasn't about to voice the truth. Not after how close they'd come to it being a reality. But Jean-Claude died with the sun, and her innate honesty wouldn't allow her to voice it any other way.

 

He caressed her face, and smiled knowingly. "My cold body doesn't appeal to you. I know this. But rest assured it is a temporary death, a little death, and I will sleep it hopefully dreaming of the love making we are about to partake in. I will only be a moment; long enough to satisfy myself of his well being."

 

Anita hugged herself, a sobering thought threatening to douse her exultant mood and desires. "Richard's going to have to face the music tomorrow, or the next day, Jean-Claude. Hell, a lot of people who helped us tonight are. This isn't over yet. Our friends and betrayers both have a tough road ahead."

 

"We can only do what we can do, Ma Petite. So be it. We will cope."

 

**********************************************************************

 

Richard and Micah peered down at the comatose young man. Jason's features were slack with sleep, his blond hair tousled and still damp from when Faust had cleaned him up. He looked younger than his twenty two years. Angelic. Fragile. A living breathing example that the old adage looks could be deceiving was as true as they come.

 

Micah broke the silence first. "Comes across all sweet and innocent, doesn't he?" he whispered conversationally to Richard. "Like every mother's dream of a perfect date for their daughters. Until the horns start peeking through those blond locks of his."

 

Richard snorted. He knew better than most how incorrigible Jason could be, having more then once been on the receiving end of what the boy considered to be humor. Incorrigible didn't quite cover that peccadillo of his; death wish summed it up much nicer. "He's dreaming up maniacal plans in that high IQ head of his, that's for sure. And speaking of which, what's your face saving plan for Zerbrowski?"

 

Micah arched an eyebrow and shrugged. "Damned if I know. I was hoping you'd have an epiphany or something. Don't you have a deep dark pack secret on him we could use?"

 

Richard shook his head, and didn't even try to conceal his exasperation. "Nothing. And for the record, I can't believe I let you drag me into this without a plan." He stretched his arms upward, flexing his biceps as he cracked his knuckles overhead. He always felt stiff after staying shifted for long periods. "But whatever we come up with, we're going to need photos. Something concrete to hang over his head. Something that for once in his life will put the fear of God in him."

 

Micah's eyes traveled over Jason's slumbering form. "Hey, you were all for it when you got to hear the Lieutenant's first name. Pity we don't know any childhood stuff, but he probably was a precocious little darling that could do no wrong." Micah thought hard; what the hell could bug the self-assured stripper? "How about penis ones? We can always rustle up a story about how he using enhancement creams or something."

 

Richard scoffed. "Him? Nope. If the pack has heard it once, they've heard it a thousand times from his lips – `it ain't the size of the ship…'" He rolled his eyes expressively. He had no practical experience with that one, since his ship was roughly an Aircraft Carrier, but he understood the intent. "No way you'll embarrass him to silence along those lines. Besides, no photos."

 

Micah sighed, not quite ready to admit defeat, but starting to make out the handwriting on the wall. This was definitely going to be harder then he thought. It wasn't looking good for Zerbrowski. Only half serious, he offered, "You want photos? How about we take pictures of him in bed with a duck? They have them caged in the feeding room."

 

Richard rocked his head negatively, a little taken aback at the strange suggestion from the normally placid man. He was grasping at straws here. "You mean they had them caged in the feeding room. Eaten, along with every other warm-blooded snack the vampires stock for us here. What can I say; the pack and some others were hungry. So, any chance you have a duck tucked away elsewhere?"

 

Micah laughed sheepishly. "Nope."

 

With a yawn, Richard dropped his arms and crossed them over his stomach. "Then next idea."

 

Fine, try this for plan B, Micah thought. "Intimidation?"

 

Richard's eyes brightened. "What, go Alpha on him and order him not to say anything?"

 

They looked at each other, then simultaneously burst out laughing. Yeah, like that would work. On some things, sure. On the magnitude of knowing that Zerbrowski's first and middle names were Boris Maximillian? That was too prime. The torment possibilities would outweigh any threat. They'd have to beat on him every waking moment, a hobby neither of them had the time nor patience for.

 

Richard sighed and glanced around the room. "Well have to rustle up something in here, unless you think Nathaniel has knowledge we can use."

 

Micah gave an emphatic shake of his head. "I would never ask him, Richard. He'd tell me, as his Nimir-raj, but that would be taking advantage of the position to force him to betray his friend. I won't do that, not for the reason of forestalling some teasing."

 

"That's going to be teasing of epic proportions, you know," Richard cautioned.

 

Micah wasn't about to be swayed. "I know, but it isn't going to be life or death. We'll just have to think of something else."

 

Richard sighed as he scanned Jason's room. "Then scary as it is, I think we're going to have to search his closet. There's got to be something in there." Richard shuddered at the possibilities, not entirely sure he had the stomach for the task.

 

Micah gave him a light shove in the back. "You go first. You’re his Ulfric, and have more of a right then I do to go in there." Not willing to concede the point, Richard's retort was forestalled by a silken, accented voice behind him. Damn, but he had to be tired and distracted not to have noticed Jean-Claude's entrance.

 

The vampire glided silently to their sides. "Odd to find you here arguing, Mon Amis. Might I enquire as to the reason you are in my Pomme's quarters, obviously plotting something nefarious? Has this night not been enough?"

 

Looking slightly guilty, Micah answered, "It isn't what you think, Jean-Claude. We're trying to help a mutual friend here."

 

Jean-Claude leaned over Jason's bed, and smoothed the hair out of his face so he could examine him. "Then enlighten me, Mon Chat. Or you, my wolf. Because I will not leave until you do, and Anita awaits my return. I doubt the depths of her patience this almost morn, as well. Who is this mutual friend who needs protection from Jason, of all wolves?"

 

Micah eyed Richard. Richard shrugged noncommittally, letting the decision be Micah's. The wereleopard groaned inwardly, and resigned himself to the inevitable. "It's like this. Jason knows a secret about Zerbrowski, one that has the potential to provide him with countless teasing sessions. We were just looking for something equally good, something that we could give to Zerbrowski to create a sort of …."

 

Jean-Claude cocked an eyebrow knowingly at Micah. "Détente?"

 

Micah beamed. "Exactly! Each side would have such heinous weapons to use against the other, that they would never be unleashed for fear of retaliation. Didn't know you knew that word, Jean-Claude."

 

"Is it not a French word? Did I not live through the entire cold war efforts?" Jean-Claude lectured. "But you complicate things. Simply order the boy not to reveal his knowledge."

 

Richard laughed. "We thought of that. This one's too good, and no way he'll be able to suppress his natural desire to be a pain in the ass about it. Not without severe, regular, poundings. Which we doubted you would tolerate, since he'd look bruised on stage."

 

Amused, Jean-Claude shook his head at them. Americans. So unable to intimidate when the situation was dire. "And how many know this secret? It is only as well kept as the people who can reveal it." Micah and Richard raised their hands. "Bon. Now, you will tell it to me."

 

Richard rolled his eyes. "Nice try, but hardly, Jean-Claude. You live and breathe power plays; besides, Micah swore to Katie that he wouldn't say a word, and he only told me because he needed my help."

 

"And you will tell me because you need mine," Jean-Claude argued, logic firmly on his side. "I will speak with Jason; he will obey me. Or I will roll his mind and erase the knowledge. Simple tasks that only I could accomplish, so you will reveal it to me out of need. Now, what is this horrible news?

 

Micah rubbed his upper lip with his forefinger, and debated their options. Oh hell, who was he kidding. They had no options, other than enlisting as an ally the Master of the City. This whole secret was quickly devolving into a fiasco. One knows a secret, it's a confidence for life. Two, or three? It's gossip. But there was no helping it. He capitulated with an exaggerated sigh. "Zerbrowski's name. His full name. A name he hasn't used it since God knows when, and no one really knows outside of Katie. He doesn't even have it printed on his badge, and to the best of our knowledge no one outside his immediate supervisors know it in RPIT. So this is a black ops size, national security type knowledge."

 

Jean-Claude rolled his eyes. So dramatic. He was about to offer a retort when he caught the humorous gleam in the wereleopard's eye. So. Micah understood the frivolity of it all. But then, it wasn't his or the lycanthropes' sensibilities that were at stake. "All this over a man's name? Have out with it then, Micah. I would know the deplorable moniker that has you both invading the privacy of my Pomme."

 

Richard started to snicker as Micah answered. "It's Boris. Boris Maximillian."

 

Jean-Claude blinked, astounded. "Is that all?" he exclaimed, incredulous.

 

Micah held up protesting hands. "Hey, it's enough for Zerbrowski," he argued. "Even his own wife doesn't use it. And apparently you aren't aware of certain, ah, allusions to that name that are out there."

 

Jean-Claude sighed. Merde, but these children were to be the death of him. But he understood, after a fashion, the tension salving misdirection this little prank was serving. Micah would stand by Anita and the others, and help as he could. Richard; ah, Richard. His wolf faced an entirely different future. One that could potentially dash all of his childhood dreams.

 

"Fools. Such a small thing; but no matter. If it is of importance to you all, I will assist. When he awakens, I will ensure his silence." He held up a hand at the mutinous look on Richard's face. "Be at peace, mon loup. Do you honestly think I would do anything to harm the boy? If you have not already learned this after tonight, learn it now; he is after my own heart, and I will tolerate no harm to him. Even at my own hand." He smiled. "I will, however, demand obedience. He will comply. Outraged and pouting, but he will comply."

 

Micah clapped his hands. "Bravo, Jean-Claude. My job here is done then. I'll be with my Pard, if you need me. If they don't want to stay with the pack, we'll be heading home."

 

"I have been remiss. Thank you, Micah Callahan, for all that you have done this night. For myself, Anita, and my Kiss. And for all of your people." He gave him a courtier's bow, a respectful one, and Micah damn near blushed at the attention.

 

"Anytime, Jean-Claude. I'm here for the long haul, you should know that by now. Anything for family." Smiling, he clapped Richard on the shoulder and walked quickly out of the room.

 

Jean-Claude ran his hands over Jason's slumbering form, carefully tucking in the silk sheets and around his still body. "And you, my wolf? Are you content with what has happened this night? I applaud you, and can only offer my deepest admiration for what you have done for your people and mine this night. There will be repercussions, I fear. For what it is worth, I will assist you in anyway I can."

 

Richard sighed. "Thanks for smacking me back to reality, Jean-Claude." He held up a hand before the vampire could offer any sympathy or advice. "No, seriously, thank you. There's going to be hell to pay Monday, if not tomorrow, and I have to start dealing with that. I'm fairly certain my teaching career is destroyed, and my family will be dealing with a boatload of annoyances, but I'll handle it. I'm just not going to let myself go down without a fight. I don't give up that easily on my dreams." He straightened up, and ruffled Jason's hair affectionately. "I'm bunking in with the wolves that are staying here. They need the comfort of my presence, and hell, I want theirs. And thanks. I am going to need your support; yours and Anita's." He gave a sad laugh. "Shit, I think I'm going to need a job."

 

Jean-Claude smiled large enough to show fang. "I am sure one of my clubs could use your presence, Mon Ami. With that sublime body…"

 

Always looking for an advantage, Jean-Claude. "Forget it! I will not be stripping next to Jason and Stephen. Bad for the chain of command. I'll find something on my own, thanks!"


	37. Chapter Thirty-Seven

He was afraid, trapped in a blackness that stank of smoke and death. Immobile, unable to escape the suffocating darkness, his chest heaving with the effort to breathe. He struggled against what was holding him hostage, thrashed and howled his anger and fear until he.…

 

Jason jerked awake with a start, sweat drenched and disoriented. He was completely entombed in a silken cocoon of sheets and blankets, his head burrowed under a mound of pillows. His wolf immediately scented the area, and relief washed over him as he recognized the musky odors of his own room. Coming up for air, he understood his nightmare; he was tangled haphazardly in his covers and, considering his recent adventure, the claustrophobia alone was enough to give him the willies.

 

"Stupid bloody things," he grumbled to himself as he kicked his way free of his blankets. "How the hell did I get trussed up like a damn mummy anyway? I never sleep covered!" He settled back against his damp pillows with a groan. Damn, but he had a headache to boot. What had happened…suddenly the memories all came roaring back. The explosion. The encroaching fire. Being trapped with Katie and Byron, Micah rescuing them, having to shift and pass out so he could be saved. He rubbed his face shakily, trying to massage the remnants of disorientation away. Shit, what time was it? Hell, what day was it? He was back at the Circus, that much was sure, but damn it, what about everyone else? Did they all make it out ok?

 

He looked over at his clock. Ten of six. PM, so he'd sleep through a day. What fucking day, he hadn't a clue. He raked a frustrated hand through his hair, both his humanity and beast hating the unknown and confusion. Why didn't the cheap ass thing have a date on it as well? He inhaled deeply, held it for a count of ten, and then slowly let it back out, a nice cleansing breath to help him focus. Get a grip, Schulyer, he chided himself, you're better then this. Ok, fine, this was simple enough to solve. He just needed to talk to someone, pronto. It's not like he wasn't in familiar territory. The Circus was chock full of shifters, vampires, and humans. All he had to do was find a talking, intelligent body and ask some questions. Wrapping a sheet toga fashion around his body, he padded quickly over to his door. He'd just go wandering, and find someone he could get some answers from.

 

It was a good plan, too, except for one small but significant detail he discovered as he tried to turn the handle.

 

His door was locked. He shook it impotently, snarling "What the fuck?!" to whoever might be listening on the other side, and resisted the urge to start slamming his fist against it. Since when did he lock his door? And more importantly, why was it locked in such a way that he couldn't get out of his own damn room? He needed answers, and damn it, he was hungry! He stood there, annoyed breaths whistling through his nose, tying to make sense of this turn of events when his mind registered a slightly more pressing need than his stomach. He gave into temptation and smacked his hand against the thick mahogany wood, then veered off to the bathroom, dropping the sheet along the way. If he wasn't getting out of here, he didn't care about being naked, and it was somewhat soothing to just to without.

 

He sighed dramatically as he peed, and let his mind wander. Ok, almost six. This time of year, Jean-Claude was either just asleep, or about to wake up. He was the only one with the authority to lock him in. His stomach began churning at the thought. His mind in overdrive, he tried to think of what the hell had he done to warrant imprisonment. Jean-Claude had never done that before. He had to be in deep shit, but over what? WHAT THE HELL COULD HE HAVE DONE? Damn, but he wished he had his cell phone. He smacked his head dramatically, spraying urine across the toilet. He was going to have

to clean that up; Nathaniel always had a fit when he did that. But he was an idiot. He had a freaking phone in his bedroom. He'd just start dialing numbers, starting with Anita's, until he got a hold of someone.

 

Shaking off, he gulped down several glasses of water, his dehydration a sure indication that he'd been asleep for quite some time. Well, he'd get to the bottom of things soon enough, he consoled himself as he shut off the light and made his way to the end table by the bed. He might not like the answers, and he somehow foresaw a ton of groveling in his future, but at least he'd be enlightened.

 

A voice froze him in his tracks. "You are well, my wolf?" a familiar voice purred. Jason suddenly had an irresistible urge to pee again. Jean-Claude was awake, and must have sensed him get up, because he was reclined indolently on his rumpled bed, patiently awaiting the pleasure of his company. His master's features were bland, blank. Just a bit on the scary side, and Jason instinctively hunched his shoulders and broadcast "I give!" signals with every muscle he possessed. He attempted a smile as he rolled his eyes at his master. "I don't know, Jean-Claude. Am I well? To be honest, since I've no clue how I got here or what happened after I shifted back, I'm not sure I know up from down at the moment."

 

Jean-Claude smirked inwardly at the effect he was having. Jason was approaching the bed cautiously, one hesitant foot in front of the other, and he knew if the boy had a tail, it would have been tucked firmly between his legs. He hated having to intimidate his Pomme so recently after his unpleasant experiences, but it was nécessaire. Nothing else would have a lasting impression on the imp. He patted the mattress in invitation. "Come. Greet me properly," he ordered.

 

Jason needed no other summons, quickening his place to kneel next to Jean-Claude on his bed. He impetuously gave him the subservient wolf greeting, running his tongue lightly across Jean-Claude's cold chin and lips, like a wolf pup begging for food. He whispered quietly against his lips, "Hungry?"

 

Jean-Claude cradled Jason's face. "That is why I am here, my Pomme. Are you recovered enough to allow me to feed safely?"

 

Jason turned and leaned into his master's embrace. "I'm fine, Jean-Claude. Hungry, and I'll probably want to eat about half a cow when you're through, but I'm fine." He looked at him, a slightly pleading look in his eyes. "Make things normal again. Feed from me, talk to me, tell me what I did to deserve being locked up. Make the universe the way it was."

 

Jean-Claude pulled him across his chest, lengthening his neck for a clean strike. "That I can do, my Pomme. Perhaps not make things completely right, but if it is my touch and routine your crave, so be it." He took his mind then, as he bit into his vein and drank; took his mind and allowed as much pleasure as he dared course through his Pomme's body.

 

Jason moaned and arched against him, his hands clutching spasmodically against Jean-Claude's forearm and he shuddered his pleasure over and over. Too soon, much too soon for his nerves and heart, he felt fangs withdraw from his throat, to be replaced by a now warm tongue licking away the trails of blood. "Thanks," Jason murmured, his pulse quieting to a slow gallop. "That was intense."

 

Jean-Claude's fingers caressed his hair, smoothing it away from Jason's face so he could see the boy's eyes. "I almost lost you, my Pomme. A most distressing thought. Perhaps I felt the need to taste your life and presence as pressingly as you desired a return to life as it was."

 

His eyes a dreamy haze, and feeling a little more secure in his world, Jason quipped, "Never had anyone as good as me before, have you? Once you've had Jason...."

 

Jean-Claude sighed. "Do you wish to continue that boast, or would you like to hear how the evening unfolded?"

 

Jason sat up abruptly, an injudicious move considering his recent donation and lack of sustenance. He blinked rapidly to clear out the dizziness that threatened to overwhelm him, and pleaded, "I'll be good! I swear! Please, fill me in! Is everyone alright?"

 

Jean-Claude pulled him back down against his chest, and began to play absently with Jason's sweaty locks. "Oui. Several of my vampires lost their lives in the conflagration, but your friends, those you care most about, are safe and sound. Katie is well, and Byron recovered. After you were freed…"

 

Jean-Claude spoke quietly, answering questions, enjoying his Pomme's youthful energy and exuberance, and his savvy insights and intuitive comments. He'd reached the point of the feedings, and mentioned those who had volunteered, when Jason let out a gale of laughter and rolled over out of his arms to kneel in front of him.

 

"Zerbrowski donated? While the ardeur was flowing? Jesus, he'd never donated before, period, but with that much sex saturating the air? He had to get off on it! Oh, this is just too good. And he fed Byron? Oh, I bet he came when he did. That's almost as good as…" he trailed off, biting his tongue in annoyance. It wouldn't do to let that little piece of knowledge slip.

 

Jean-Claude's eyes become hooded, his lips tugging down in an annoyed frown. "As good as what, Jason? As knowing the Lieutenant's first name?"

 

Jason rocked back onto his ass, stunned that his master knew. "How in the hell did you find out?"

 

Jean-Claude allowed his power to rise slightly in the room, hoping to cow the boy and get his attention. "I am the Master of the City. If it is necessary for me to know, I will."

 

Jason twitched, like a high strung horse, his nerves picking up on the cold power even if his brain was sorely lagging behind. "Yeah, right. Katie wouldn't have told you, and the only other one there was Micah." Jason's eyes widened in shock. "He told you?"

 

"Oui. And my impertinent wolf, it will go no farther then us. I notice you have studiously avoided asking why I had Ernie change the locks on your door?" He noted with satisfaction the chagrined look on his wolf's face, and fought to keep a stern countenance on his face. Merde, it was difficult when all he wished to do was laugh at Jason's somewhat hang dog demeanor. But it was time to drive home his point. "Jason," he commanded, lowering his voice menacingly, and allowing his power to prickle across the imp's skin. "I forbid you to repeat this information to anyone, or to use it to torment the RPIT officer. He is an honorable man, with a delightful wife, and I will not tolerate your deviltry unleashed his way." Jason's eyes widened in shock, and he noted with satisfaction the look of panic gracing his Pomme's slack jawed face.

 

"WHAT? That's what I'm up shit creek for?" Jason sputtered. "Come on, Jean-Claude, you can't be serious! In the first place, I wouldn't be mean about it, and secondly, is it THAT serious an offence that you locked me up in my own room? Jeez, why not put in a silver door or something! Besides, info like that is too good to pass up on! We're always bantering back and forth. You don't think he'd use knowledge like that against me if he had it?"

 

It took a supreme effort not to give into the pleading, wheedling tone the boy had adopted. But he had to hold firm; it was a small payment indeed to Katherine, against the debt he owed her for her strength and perseverance in saving Byron and his beloved Pomme. He reached across the link he had, the link that he felt with all wolves, and metaphysically grabbed the boy by the scruff of his neck. "Do I really need to repeat myself, Jason? You will be silent about this. Not a word to anyone, not even Zerbrowski. Am. I. Understood?"

 

His dominance had the desired effect. "Yes, Sir," was the meek answer he received, and he quickly changed the power from chastisement to reward. Jason collapsed dramatically next to him. "You'd think you would cut me some slack after almost dying and all." He bore no ill will, not that Jean-Claude expected him to. There relationship had grown deeper then that. "But how's this; I won't say anything, but if Z-man brings it up himself, I get to tease a little then?"

 

Incorrigible and persistent. His two best, and worst traits, and always indulgent with his wolf, he found himself relenting. "Oui. If he is foolish enough, then it is on his head. But no others."

 

Bright blue eyes smiled up at him, a decidedly evil gleam in their depths. "Scout's honor! No one else will know, not from my lips, anyway!"

 

Merde. Somehow this had not turned out completely the way he had intended.

 

**********************************************************************

 

Chaos reigned in the Zebrowski household. Not an unusual condition, but hyper offspring, curious neighbors, and an influx of little and not so little monsters combined this Halloween night to elevate the normally loud atmosphere into a cacophony of earsplitting noise.

 

And just to make the confusion complete, the phone was ringing. AGAIN. Well, again didn't quite cover it. The phone had actually been ringing non-stop since they had plugged the damn thing back in.

 

With a dramatic silent scream and mock hair pulling, Katie threaded her way through the excited bodies littering her living room. Zee was dressed to bursting in his cop's uniform, and was all set to take Kristy and Frankie out trick or treating. Which apparently was his

contribution to the evening's festivities. She opened her mouth to yell at him for not answering the phone, and to comment on the straining buttons, but just shut it fondly and let both pass. Neither one of them was a kid anymore, and the few extra pounds weren't all that noticeable. Just enough to add some love handles to hang onto, and to keep her cozy on a cold St. Louis' winter's night. And after the prior evening, who the hell cared? What a difference a new day can makes, she thought as the strident tones of the phone pulled her out of her musings. Yesterday she was sure she'd never see her kids again; today the bustle of life was almost overwhelming.

 

That Zerbrowski was studiously ignoring Alexander Bell's invention was not a new development on the day. It was actually good thing, considering his rather caustic answers to overly inquisitive relatives. Just to let him know she was handling it, she mock sarcastically yelled out, "That's OK, husband! I'll answer the phone! I can see you're WAY too busy entertaining the rug rat set to be bothered!" Ok, so maybe just letting the buttons pass was concession enough.

 

Zee shot her a wide eyed, innocent look. "Just making sure Kristy tells the story right, Katie love!" he yelled, his tone clearly indicating that he thought he was being unfairly castigated by her comment.

 

She snorted inelegantly as she grabbed the receiver a scant ring away from being picked up by the machine. Story was right. There were very little shreds of truth to the tale Kristy was weaving, and Zee had been gleefully encouraging her oldest offspring's embellishments. Kristy's take on the prior night was that her parents had single handedly saved every vampire and werewolf in the city of St. Louis. They may or may not have put the fire out as well; her eldest offspring hadn't gotten quite that far into the story yet. It still amused her, the superior attitude her daughter had adopted, especially when some of her friends insisted they were scary because they came costumed as Vampires and Weres. She knew she had yet to acknowledge the call, but Kristy's voice was making her laugh in its vehemence, and besides, it was only going to be some third cousin twice removed sucking up for the inside scoop.

 

"They aren't SCARY!" her eldest scoffed in her best `get real' voice. "MY Mom and Dad know LOTS of them, and told me they're just like people!"

 

One little were-boy wasn't about to give in. Apparently he was a werewolf, and he was frightening, and he wasn't about to relinquish that persona for a Care Bear cuddly one. "Are SO!! They always make scary movies about them, and there's tons of stories on TV about how crazy they are too!" He was starting to sway the fickle crowd, and

shouts of agreement accompanied his pronouncement.

 

Hands on her costumed hips, Kristy scoffed, "That's just stories. MY Daddy deals with them all the time, and my MOMMY has lots of vampire and wolf friends! She SAVED them, you know! TELL them, Daddy!"

 

Katie never heard her husband's answer, as a familiar voice keep yelling, "Hello? HELLO?" from the forgotten receiver. It wasn't an annoying relative or one of her hair dresser cronies, and she quickly brought the phone to her ear.

 

"Anita! Hi! I'm so sorry for being rude like that. It's been absolutely insane around here, and I thought you were just going to be another well meaning but nosy call," she answered loud enough to be heard over the background din. Anita calling wasn't unusual, but unexpected this soon, and she began to worry a bit. "How are you? Is everyone still OK?"

 

"Everyone's fine, Katie," Anita's voice soothed in her ear. "They all got tucked in safely, and should be coming around again in another few hours. How about you? And Zerbrowski? Did you both have a good night's sleep?"

 

Katie sighed in relief. "Good to hear! I was worried more about Byron, truth be told; I figured Jason would be fine from how he looked before the lick-a-thon commenced with his friends. We're good. I'm a bit sore, and Zee's taking the kids trick or treating for me. Hated to break that promise, but I'm just not up to walking the neighborhood!"

 

Katie could practically hear Anita frown on the other end. "Do you need to see Dr. Lillian again?" Anita asked. "She's about the only one who'll make a house call on a Sunday that I know of, and I know she likes you enough to keep the charge down to a bare minimum."

 

Katie laughed quietly, a satisfied smile gracing her face. "No, I don't need a doctor; we got a good nights sleep, or at least we did after Zee worked out whatever the hell had gotten into him from feeding Byron. I swear, he hasn't been that horny since our…" She barked out a laugh at the choked sound in her ear, and shook her head in amazement. "I know, I know, too much information, but come on , Anita, how the heck do you think we made two kids?"

 

Anita groaned, and Katie smiled at the so called tough Executioner's squeamishness. "As far as I'm concerned, and for the sake of my nightmares, Zerbrowski has never, ever, had sex, and you two adopted. And speaking of the Lieutenant, is he available, or is this a bad time? I need to speak to him if I can."

 

Katie roared with laughter, and relented. "Fine, have it your way! But if my kids find out your little theory, the therapy's on you! Zee can talk to you; all he's doing is pilfering our supply of Halloween candy and impressing the entire neighborhood with lies and exaggerations. Hold on, I'll get the stud muffin for you." She smirked at the fake retching noise in her ear. "Ok, Ok, I'll stop. Just feeling too good not to play a little!" Katie waved the receiver at her husband, trying to get his attention. "Zee!" she hollered in her best Mom voice, and everyone instinctively hushed at her tone. "It's Anita Blake!"

 

An even deeper, awed silence settled over the room, and countless wide eyes stared in her direction. Everyone knew who Anita Blake was. "It's the Executioner!" someone whispered in the sudden quiet. "Bet someone's gonna get it now!"

 

Not to be outdone, the werewolf costumed boy announced triumphantly, "See? I TOLD you they were scary! Bet they have to go stake someone or something!!!" Frankie and some of the other, younger children were nodding in agreement, obviously being swayed to his side at the prospect of a vampire slaying.

 

Kristy rolled her eyes and adopted her best seven year old superior tone. "Please, she calls ALL the time! It doesn't mean…."

 

Zee tapped his daughter on the nose, and admonished, "Stop it, you. ALL of you! Ms. Blake consults for RPIT, and is just checking in with me after last night. No more stories!"

 

Kristy looked aggrieved. "But DADDY, you SAID…"

 

Zee grimaced. Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to egg on his head strong daughter. "I know, baby, but Daddy can't tell you everything that goes on at work, either. Now let me take this call then we'll all go out Trick or Treating."

 

Katie smirked as she watched her husband try to extricate himself out of his boisterous predicament with his daughter, as well as disentangle himself from Spiderman, a/k/a their youngest, Frankie. Served him right for riling them up. She looked around, making sure

no one was paying attention to her. She still had a few seconds before Zee made his way over. It was the perfect opportunity to start setting some damage control in motion.

 

She whispered into the receiver, "Um, Anita? Would you know what days Jason is working next week? I need to talk to him about something."

 

"Would that something be a little known secret about Zerbrowski that you let out of the bag?" Anita teased.

 

Katie's eyes widened in panic. "YOU know? How…." She ducked her head as she listened frantically to Anita's explanation, then groaned, "He told JEAN-CLAUDE? Oh, Anita, Zee had a conniption fit when he found out that Micah and of all people, JASON knew! Now this is spreading like wildfire! Last night aside, he's going to freaking DIVORCE me!" she whispered ferociously. This was getting completely beyond her attempt at damage control. "I wanted to try to get Jason to swear he'd keep his mouth shut!"

 

Katie knew Anita was laughing at her at the other end, and was just covering the mouthpiece to try to be polite and to compose herself. But damn it, this wasn't a laughing matter! Zee was almost there and rather then being able to make things better, she'd just found out that they were actually much, much worse. She relaxed minutely as she listened to Anita's humor laden voice explain that it was being handled, and she wasn't to worry about Jason. "Jean-Claude's taking care of it? And you're sure Jason will listen?"

 

"Jason will listen," Anita assured her. "After Jean-Claude reasons with him, Jason'll swear under oath he has no idea what Zerbrowski's real name is. And is he there yet? It is important I talk to him."

 

Katie smiled again, a huge radiant grin. "Well, I'll be! I didn't know ANYONE could scare the bejesus out of that spitfire! Does Jean-Claude make house calls? I've got a little girl that could use some intimidation in her life." Zee arrived, and gave her a quizzical, `what the hell are you talking about?' look that she waved off. "He's right here, Anita! Thanks, and have a good night!"

 

Zee took the phone and gave a loud and cheerful, "Hey Blake. Everything alright?" in Anita's ear as he ran an arm around Katie and lifted her playfully off the ground, grunting slightly as she smacked him in the chest. "Claudia checked in earlier, as a courtesy to let me know she and that vampire Asher were investigating on their own," he continued. "Smith is trying to contact the pyrotechnic company, and hopefully we can get a subpoena...."

 

Katie couldn't hear what Anita was saying to Zee, but she could tell it wasn't making him a happy camper. Her smile faded as he dropped her gently back to her feet, and she watched him frown mightily at the phone. "What do you mean you already have that info? Damn it, Anita, I'm not about to sit back and let some vigilante crap take place." She winced at his sudden angry tone, and the word vigilante. Nothing pushed her husband's buttons worse than untrained people who thought they could do his job better than him. She leaned against the counter and continued to eavesdrop as Zerbrowski shut up and listened to Anita's explanation, and slightly mollified, answered, "Fine, I agree that it wasn't a random terrorist attack, and that it was specifically aimed at you three. I don't have a problem with them working the same route, but damn it, even if it's some preternatural political crap, I can't just turn a blind eye."

 

She relaxed and let out the breath she'd been holding. It didn't seem like he was going to have to leave, so at least the kids wouldn't be disappointed. Even if Zee still sounded so himself. He nodded perfunctorily and shot her a reassuring wink. "Agreed. We'll keep each other informed. Oh, and Anita? Before you hang up, you'd better let Richard know his adoration level just went from cool to `all that', or some other slang term, now that it's out he's a werewolf. I've never had so many junior high kids willingly hang around my humble abode before, and they're all here on the slim hope of catching a glimpse of his buffness here tonight. And no, I haven't been encouraging them. You think I WANT this many teenagers in my house?" He snorted in disgust, and Katie raised a questioning eye at him. "They can't do that legally, but I see what you mean. They'll just drum something up. That's too bad; I'll character him if he wants. Yeah, you're all right too, Blake. Later."

 

Katie moved closer to Zee and rubbed his arm. "What was that about?"

 

He shook his head sadly. "I should have seen it coming, but it's still a damn shame. The general consensus seems to be that Mr. Zeeman is now out of a job."

 

A screech sounded from the living room, where the gaggle of teens were grouped and not so surreptitiously giving a clandestine listen to his side of the conversation. "NOOO! They can't do that; he's the best teacher we've ever had!" one girl wailed pitifully.

 

Zee shook his head sympathetically. "Afraid it's not our call, Missy. You might want to talk to your parents, though. They may have some influence."

 

The pert little brunette narrowed her eyes in determination, and flipped open her ever present cell phone. "Yes Sir, I'm going to talk to them! Them and ALL my friends!" she answered as she turned away, her head already cradled to the phone as she began to marshal her forces.


	38. Chapter Thirty-Eight

`Well, at least they didn't drag this out,' Richard thought a trifle sadly as he squirmed awkwardly in the undersized folding chair they had so thoughtfully provided for his use. It didn't help his overall comfort level that he'd taken the time to don his best suit. As if that would help. He'd been seen naked, so clothing up for the part would hardly assist his cause. Worse, it just served to make him feel prickly, and he knew that the professional look he was trying to achieve had failed miserably in the disrespectful setting they'd chosen to conduct this in.

 

Truth be told, he knew he looked like a juvenile being called to task by his elders. With a supreme burst of will, he settled into stillness. At the very least he could keep his tall frame from fidgeting as he faced the somber faced tribunal of School Officials. The McCarthyism overtones were not lost on him, as Arthur and the others whispered conspiratorially amongst themselves, passing unmarked manila folders back and forth like CIA operatives. He was careful to keep his face blank, his unease and anger in check. Not that he had any chance with this obvious kangaroo court, but losing his temper would gain him nothing here, and he carefully squelched the links between himself and Anita. Now would definitely not be the time to share her anger, her rage, however justified it might be.

 

Monday, Monday. Can't trust that day. That one refrain from an old sixties song seemed to be his calming mantra from the moment his phone had rang him unceremoniously awake at five AM this morning, requesting his presence at an `emergency' session of the city school board. Not just local; he was being reviewed by the entire St. Louis board. He clenched his jaw as he recalled the arrogant tone of his principal. That had been Arthur's word, emergency, and he could just seeing him thumbing through the school board's Disaster Recovery Manuals, trying to find a procedure he could follow or press into service. The bigoted man had been breathing down his neck ever since his request to teach preternaturals on school property, and Richard just bet he'd been salivating since he'd undoubtedly seen him shift on the nightly news.

 

They were taking too long to get started, and he was weary of all the pretentious posturing. He cleared his throat impatiently. "There's no need to draw this out, gentlemen. I am well aware of the reason why I'm here. The speed with which you put this meeting together alone tells me you were all watching the news on Saturday. So let me verbalize what your eyes told you that night. Yes, I am a lycanthrope. Werewolf to be exact." He paused, and stared each of them square in the eye. If this was a lynch mob, then they'd do him the decency of looking at him before the passed judgment. "Now for the important question. How do you see this impacting my position, taking into consideration the fact that it is illegal to discriminate against lycanthropes?"

 

Arthur frowned as he broke off the whispered conversation he was having with the head of the St. Louis school board. "We have no intention of pursuing any form of discrimination, Mr. Zeeman. The ACLU have made it abundantly clear in the amazingly short amount of time they've had since you contacted them, that any retaliation against you would not be tolerated. Their words, not mine, Richard." He paused, as though he were counting to ten and reining in his ire. "No, the issue we have here is of truth. You lied to us, Mr. Zeeman," Arthur tsked, like a parent scolding an errant child. "You lied to us about your true nature, and that is the issue at hand."

 

Richard smirked at the irritation his boss was letting slip. In truth, he hadn't contacted the ACLU. He honestly didn't believe they would be able to make a difference. A shifter teaching schoolchildren was just too knee-jerk an issue. But he could just bet Micah had. "Splitting that hair rather fine, aren't you all? It's not the fact that I'm a werewolf that compelled you to convene, and I quote, an `emergency' session, but the fact that you felt I lied about my infected status." He allowed himself the luxury of a sneer to show how little he respected the convoluted nature of their argument. "For the record, then, I did not lie, Arthur. I simply refrained from revealing facts about my life that were not germane to my position, and are not permitted by law to be germane to my position."

 

Uncharacteristically violent, Arthur flung an envelope at Richard, striking him in the chest. It fell to the floor at his feet, and he simply ignored its presence. "Please do not compound your prevarication with further dancing around the truth, Mr. Zeeman. That envelope contains a complete copy of your employment file." He brandished a similar envelope in the air, using it to punctuate his acrimonious words. "What I have here are copies of your application in which you clearly state you have no known diseases that might adversely impact your position at the school."

 

Richard shrugged. He knew what he had put on his employment application, and there was no reason to deny the words. "Agreed. And it's the truth. My lycanthropy is not a detriment to my job."

 

Arthur sat back triumphantly. "Ah, but it is a required reportable affliction, necessitating certain additional precautions regarding blood be taken. Which you lied about."

 

Richard shook his head stubbornly. Two could play this game. "Neglected to disclose, for obvious reasons. There's a difference. And I would ask that you show in ANY way how my being a shifter has adversely affected my teaching."

 

"Oh, there's more than that, as you are well aware," Arthur continued snidely, and Richard stiffened in his seat. Good or bad, the truth of the matter was about to unfold. "It's your whole affiliation with the vampires and that woman, Anita Blake. You are not the caliber of moral turpitude that we wish to have in our school district, Richard. You attract trouble. Trouble our parents, and the school board, are less then thrilled with."

 

Richard stared pointedly around the empty room. Well, not quite empty. Micah was in the back, offering Coalition support. And Zerbrowski was there, as the local RPIT representative. They had both said they would speak on his behalf, even though neither of them had much time to prepare, rushed as this meeting was. Anita had wanted to attend as well, but he felt that would only be waving the red cape in front of the bull. Arthur was an impotent little prick; Anita, and her many liaisons in the preternatural community, would only piss him off.

 

"If they are so unhappy, why aren't they here clamoring for my head?" he asked derisively.

 

"This meeting was speedy, as well you know. We could ill afford to procrastinate on our decision. Suffice it to say, we have documentation of your transgressions." Arthur waved yet another of his myriad manila folders menacingly. The man seemingly had an inexhaustible supply. "Copious amounts of documentation to prove to our tax paying parents the depths of your depravity and deceit."

 

Richard stood up angrily, his power pulsing out into the room. Not that it had any effect on the mundanes, but he could hold back no longer. He sensed Micah moving closer to his back in a show of solidarity. "Spend all night drumming up your racist support, did you? Will my lawyers need a subpoena to see those documents, or will the school board release them willingly?"

 

"Your smug days are over, playboy," Arthur ranted, surging to his feet and leaning forward aggressively on the desk. "You won't be able to teach driver's Ed by the time I'm…"

 

His diatribe was interrupted by a lone man who came calmly walking into the room. He looked tired, and annoyed, his work clothes clean but wrinkled, as he strode up to the table. Incensed at the intrusion, Arthur barely managed a civil tone. "I'm sorry, Sir, but this is a private meeting of the school board and you aren't permitted.."

 

The man ignored his diatribe and calmly interrupted. "I know what it is. Kind of threw this happy bunch together quick, didn't you all? You wanted to make damn sure us parents didn't have a chance to put our two cents in, I guess?"

 

Arthur sputtered at the accusation, answering loudly, "I can assure you, whoever you are, that doing that was not our intent."

 

Richard was intrigued, and sat quietly back down and let the newcomer have center stage. The tall man flicked his head from side to side deliberately, cracking his neck, before calmly saying, "Shut the fuck up. I'm losing pay for this, so you're damn well going to keep quiet and listen to me." He stared down Arthur, daring him to contradict him, and Arthur caved under his glare, sinking into his seat and waving the construction worker on. The entire school tribunal was taken by surprise by the interruption, but they were wise enough not to upset a constituent and settled back to at least give the appearance of listening to what the man had to say.

 

"Good. My daughter attends Mr. Zeeman's class, and her and her friends came to me last night practically hysterical because she was afraid he was gonna be fired. I tried to tell her she was being silly, that it was against the law to discriminate against furries like that, but she showed me the printout of this mornings meeting agenda." He held up a hand at the outraged gasps from the assembled officials. "Don't ask; beats the shit out of me how that kid gets her computer info, and my gut tells me I'm better off being in the dark."

 

He rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Anyway, Suse hasn't been much for schooling, at least until she got to Mr. Zeeman here's class. I don't know what he did, or how he did it, but she's learning, and happy about it. Susie's always been smart as a whip, but that teacher over there, the one you all are probably hell bent on giving the boot, is the first teacher to ever see it as well and bring it out in her."

 

"Anyway, you fire him, and I'm gonna have to start something here. I have friends, and other parents, who'll support me. And I have a whole class of his kids who think the sun shines out of his ass. So you'd better think long and hard about what you're about to do. Cause you'll have a fight on your hands, bigger then any Mr. Zeeman can bring to the table alone." He held his hand out for Richard to shake. "Thanks, man. It ain't easy being a single parent, and you've done stuff with my little girl that I never thought possible."

 

Richard shook his hand gratefully, and smiled as he realized which student he was referring to. "I know Susanne, Mr. Shumaker. She's a good kid. A bright kid. All I did was encourage her and bring her out of her shell."

 

Mr. Shumaker shrugged. "The name's Bill, and I know my girl's got smarts. She's not like her old man. But you did more then most of her other teachers. And I won't forget that."

 

Arthur cleared his throat. "We will not be pressured into making an unwise decision, Mr. Shumaker. And the fact that there are legalities involved will not allow us to make this decision based solely on emotional impact."

 

Bill gave Arthur a disgusted look, then turned back to Richard and loudly stated, "He always talk like a prick?"

 

Micah burst out into laughter, and Zerbrowski echoed his mirth from the back of the classroom. Richard smiled and answered, "Overly officious men usually do. I appreciate your effort, but I think it's going to end up being in vain. Sorry about your pay loss."

 

Shumaker shrugged unconcerned. "I'll make it up in overtime. It was worth it to make my best girl happy. And I respect you, and what you do. A man's gotta stand up for what he believes is right." He pointedly ignored Arthur and the others and started walking out of the room, choosing to call his parting shot as he left. "You want to fight, let me know. I'm not alone," were his final words as the swinging doors closed noiselessly behind him.

 

Arthur coughed loudly from the front of the room, and everyone obligingly returned their attention to the small man. "This disruption means nothing, Richard. Our decision has been made and is final. If you do not voluntarily tender your resignation by three PM today, you will be summarily terminated as an employee of the St. Louis school system."

 

 

************************************************************************

 

Asher lingered in the meager dimness outside the tiny brick front bar, hovering discreetly in Claudia's shadow in a vain attempt to keep his scars and vampire existence low key. He could hear and feel the thumping pulse of modern music emanating from the dark interior of the establishment, and from what little he could view from the constant comings and goings of its patrons, it was an uncomfortably cramped place populated almost exclusively by leather clad men of all ages.

 

Clementine's, it was called. At least that was the name proudly proclaimed on the glass front door. Asher inhaled sharply, and knew from the flared nostrils of his companion that Claudia was scenting the area as well. She glanced back at him, the narrow look to her eyes proclaiming her own distrust of the locale. Asher was as perplexed as she; from the looks, and smells, it was a gay bar. An unusual meeting place for Beverly Chin, one of the top leaders of the Human's Against Vampires organization to choose, but Anita's instructions had been explicit. This bar. At this exact time. And only the two of them. No exceptions, and no other meet would be tolerated. Neither he nor Claudia had argued. Only Anita's past history with the woman had made this assignation possible. Odd that Chin had declined to allow Anita to be present as well, but her motivations were her own, whatever they might be.

 

As were his. And he was decidedly unhappy with the surroundings and the club's bouncer, an uncouth beast of a human who was blocking the entranceway and eyeing them suspiciously. "I'll need to see ID, please, from both of you," his deceptively pleasant voice intoned in the night air. "And with your papers, I'm going to want to hear a really good reason to let you both into this establishment. Because you look like trouble, and damned if we need it. Let's face it honey; even if you are a lesbian, this isn't your kind of bar, and as far as he goes, we attract enough excitement on our own without adding a vamp to the mix."

 

Asher hissed, barely keeping his human visage at the impertinence of the man. Claudia had the presence of mind not to shush him, but gently led him deeper into the alleyway, explaining as she went, "He obviously knows you're a vampire, Asher, and isn't about to let you in if he can help it. It's not a mixed bar; I can't smell a single were or vamp inside, and it's a minority club, so they're going to have some kick ass security. Let me talk to him. If Beverly Chin wants us here, she might have left instructions with the behemoth at the door. I'll feel him out and smooth our way in."

 

Asher forced his power back down, and he could feel his eyes cool to their normal icy blue. "Nothing of this bodes well, Claudia. The secretive bitch can keep her own counsel. We will ferret out what we need on our own."

 

Claudia stared the powerful vampire down, unafraid to stare directly into his eyes. They'd built up a lot of trust and mutual respect in the short time they'd been working the investigation together. "But how long will that take, Asher? And what if the trail runs cold while we do? Like it or not, Anita set this up because Ms. Chin can help us. Now settle down and let me take care of this." Her bright eyes bore into his own, willing him to agree and go through with the meet.

 

He surrendered to the inevitable. "Oui. I shall `settle down' as you request. But if that cretin does not allow us passage inside peaceably, I shall accomplish it in any manner I see fit."

 

Claudia gave him a feral smile. She could appreciate a good ass kicking as well as the next person, but this wasn't the time or place. But telling that to her partner when he was balanced on the knife edge of a meltdown would achieve nothing. "Not a problem, Asher. But believe me; I'll get us in. I've never failed yet, have I?" She wandered back to the large man, and handed him both of their ID's. "Look, we're not here to give you a hard time. We're here to meet a specific woman, for a specific reason, and then we'll be merrily on our way. To tell you the truth, I'd be shocked if we were here long enough to finish one lousy drink."

 

He didn't even bother to look at the proffered pieces of plastic. "I know who you mean. Figures you're here to see her. She was odd, too; not our usual clientele if you know what I mean, and she didn't give off a fag hag vibe. But hey, sometimes women like to come in here for an easy drink. The guys are polite and they don't get hit on right and left." He scrutinized her face, and she could tell he was wavering. "Look," he asked honestly. "You look like a bouncer yourself. Swear to me you won't cause a ruckus and I'll let you both in. But I want you gone in an hour. I'll even take you straight to her."

 

Claudia slapped him on one massive bicep, and winced at the sting as her hand seemingly met with concrete. "Agreed, and you have my word. Let me go grab Asher." She jogged quickly over to the simmering vampire, half afraid the man would change his mind. "We're in," was her clipped explanation. "But we only have sixty minutes. Godzilla over there will take us to her."

 

Asher still hesitated, going rock still as was his wont when faced with a potentially awful situation. A public place he understood, but he was still uncomfortable being seen in all his scarred ugliness. But to balk now, after he had thrown a small fit at the door, was childish, even if he had just reasons. Claudia sensed his reluctance, as well as the reason, and offered evenly, "I can do this on my own, you know. You don't have to go in." It was a small kindness on her part, but one he greatly appreciated. He blinked rapidly at her, and murmured, "Oh, but I do. A gentleman never allows a lady to go unescorted into unsavory places." He held his arm out gallantly to the taller, and broader woman, and they both laughed at the absurdity of his statement as they followed the muscled back of the security guard into the darkness of the bar.

 

All eyes were on Asher as they walked through the crowded tables and bar stools. Claudia was catalogued as unusual and scary, and summarily ignored, but Asher was raked over lustfully by every pair of eyes in the establishment.

 

Which was undoubtedly exactly what Beverly Chin had intended, Asher thought, no small amount of respect tingeing that revelation. Even if he intended violence, she had dozens of witnesses, all of whom he could never corral and roll into forgetfulness. The woman was cagy. He would have to remember that.

 

In short order they were led to a booth, and a small Asian woman seated alone, her back against the wall as she alertly scanned the area. She immediately latched onto their approach, and eyed them cautiously, her expression blank. Beverly spoke first as they slid into the both opposite from her, taking command of the discussion from the first salvo. "Let's get something straight here. I'm only doing this as a personal favor to Anita." She looked pointedly at the two of them, her blank expressive fading to hostile. "I don't know you, Claudia, I believe she said your name would be, and I don't like you, Mr. Asher. I don't like any of your kind."

 

A sentiment Asher had picked up on as soon as he had laid eyes on the woman. She was tense, not entirely with fear but with hatred, and his presence. Dislike of him, of what he was, oozed out of every pore of her body. Claudia began to speak, but was silenced by Beverly's upheld hand. "Allow me to finish, please. I know why the two of you want to talk to me, but I make no promises of information. The only thing Anita's friendship has bought you is my time."

 

Asher said nothing, waiting for Claudia to take the lead. The woman was obviously not going to ever feel comfortable talking to him, and he was loathe to ruin this opportunity that Claudia had been so anxious to take advantage of. Claudia nodded coolly, accepting the animosity and refusing to allow herself to be coaxed into anger. "I understand, Ma'am, and appreciate your time. Asher offered to stay outside, but to be honest, he has a right to be here. It was his people that were murdered the night of the explosion."

 

Beverly pursed her lips together tightly. "Murdered is an arguable term, Claudia. But I agree with the sentiment behind his presence. Were it friends of mine, I'd make sure I was there as well."

 

At her acquiescence to his participation, Asher finally spoke up, wanting to her from her mouth the logic of choosing this location to meet. "Why this place, Madam?"

 

Beverly was careful not to look in his eyes. "Anita said you were ethereally handsome. I figured a gay bar was a safe place for me, and with your looks I'd have hundreds of witnesses who would have memorized your every feature if you tried anything."

 

It was as he had thought. Intelligent of her, but had she thought it through completely? "Elegant and wise. And if I had chosen to do something nefarious and bespell the crowd?"

 

Beverley inched a cross out of her shirt, which immediately began to glow. She pulled a child's water pistol up from where she had it hidden on her lap. It didn't take a Rhodes Scholar to figure out what it was loaded with. "I think I came protected enough to make sure that didn't happen, Mr. Asher."

 

Claudia threw two photos down on the table. The mutual dislike and one-upmanship was getting them no where, and the clock was ticking. "Enough posturing. Let's cut to the chase, shall we? These two men were employed by Explosive Entertainment, the FX company used by Evariste for Theatre de Sang. He'd used them before, and the management checks out, but these two came up with some unexplainable history when we did backgrounds on their recent hires. Seems like their identities were too new, too clean, for guys that age. It took some markers, but I dredged up their true names and pasts. Do you recognize them? Because you should. They're HAV."

 

Beverly gave a cursory glance downward at the photos, as though she already knew what they contained. "I suppose I could lie, but you'd smell it and he'd sense it. The proper sentence is they were HAV. We weren't fundamentalist religious enough to suit their ideals. They splintered off."

 

Claudia stilled. She hadn't known that. "Human's First?"

 

Beverly shook her head negatively. "No. It would have been nice if they'd just be a part of our normal garden variety crazy brethren. No, they and others like them have their own unique brand of insanity. They started their own right wing group, right here in St. Louis. Call themselves God First, and they were and still might be poised to go countrywide. Fundamentalists. And no, I won't betray them by telling you where to find them. Telling you about God First is enough, and I can guarantee you that you won't like what you find out about that group. Ask around yourselves. It shouldn't be hard to come up with their locations." Her eyes grew hard, steely, and she slid a photograph of her own over that she had kept concealed under her bar napkin.

 

"Quid pro quo time. I told you who they belonged to, and that they were based here in the city. Now, just so you don't think we've been ignoring the rumblings of our own, in every surveillance we've managed this gentleman seems to always turn up. I believe he's one of your ilk. You wouldn't know who he might be, do you?"

 

Asher reached forward and flipped the small picture over. The man meant nothing to him, but from the hiss of anger from Claudia the same could not be said of her.

 

Beverly looked triumphant, as though she expected the shifter to recognize whoever's likeness graced that small piece of paper. "Claudia?" he asked quietly as the tall wererat clenched her hands in fury in her lap. "You know this individual?"

 

"I know him," Claudia clipped furiously, her eyes gone completely button black. "And God have mercy on him, because I won't."


	39. Chapter Thirty-Nine

Patricia stamped her feet absently on the cold sidewalk outside of Guilty Pleasures, the light from the garish neon sign providing more than enough brightness to read the playbills posted outside. She was searching for the name `Gregory', hoping he was performing this night. No dice, though, and she stifled a wave of disappointment. There were pictures, too, but that didn't help her much; she only knew what Greg looked like in shifter form. Damn it, she should have gotten the guy's number that night, but hell, it wasn't like they both didn't have legitimate reasons for neglecting that little important point. He'd been in his wereleopard form, and had been called off to go who knows where by the pretty honey wolf. And she'd been, charitably speaking, practically three sheets to the wind from being fed on. America's couple, or hell, America's brightest, they weren't at the time.

 

But she had known his place of employment, and had honestly figured it would be a breeze to come here and hook up with him again. Even if it was against the advice of her friends. Sure, they hardly knew each other, and yes, he was a lunarly challenged stripper. She already knew and had gotten past the arguments being leveled at her. It was kismet, serendipity, whatever you wanted to call the spark she had felt that night, and defied logic. Since she couldn't explain it intelligently to herself, she could hardly be expected to convince her friends. But Gregory had struck a chord with her, and she was going to give this a shot. If it didn't work out, fine. If he had second thoughts and didn't want to see her, that was fine also. OK, that was a lie; that would probably sting a bit, but she'd get over it. The point was, she could forgive those two occurrences. She'd never forgive herself if she didn't make a play for the brass ring.

 

But the brass ring was being annoyingly uncooperative, which was why she was standing outside the club getting chilled to the bone and at an impasse. Nothing was screaming `Gregory' at her, and even if he wasn't on tonight, she was going to have to start asking around if she was going to get anywhere. And her best recourse was the club bouncer guarding the door, a rather irate looking body builder of a vampire who was currently in a heated discussion with a familiar face, the RPIT Lieutenant, Zerbrowski. She sidled closer to wait her chance, and waited politely for a break in the conversation.

 

Just her luck, the brick wall of a security vamp was spitting angry, enough that he wasn't even trying to hide his fangs like most of the St. Louis vamps did when in public. "Damn it, Lieutenant, I'm well aware that he was on the opposite side of the street, and far enough away for the restraining order, but son of a bitch, you know as well as I do that the only reason that sick fuck is in the area is to try to bother the twins again!"

 

Zerbrowski seemed unconcerned with the theatrics, Patricia noted. In fact, he looked about as pissed as the vampire. "I know that, Buzz, but there isn't anything by law I can do. Anthony Dietrich wasn't violating the restrictions of the order, and even if I agree with you, my hands are tied. I can't arrest the man just because we both think he's a slime ball who deserves to be in a prison cell."

 

At least she had a name. Always more polite if you were on a first name basis when you were about to start a conversation that involved a favor. She watched Buzz sag a little, his face becoming more disgusted looking then angry. "The mast.... Jean-Claude should just let Valentina and Bartolomé satisfy their honor and take care of things."

 

That seemed to have an effect on Zerbrowski, and she watched him rub his haggard looking face; he seemed tired and irritated at the entire situation, whatever it might be. "They're the two child vamps who helped save Katie and the others, aren't they? What do they have to do with anything?"

 

Buzz looked askance at the Lieutenant, like he'd let out more info in the heat of his temper then he'd meant to. "They did a, ah, disservice to the boys, and owe them a debt of honor. They won't leave to go back to Europe until they feel it's satisfied. And believe you me, they've been itching to use Anthony Dietrich as the means." The mere uttering of the name appeared to rile Buzz up again, and he once more showed fang. "They should be allowed. That slime ball deserves it."

 

Patricia shivered a little at the vehemence in Buzz's voice. She was starting to feel uncomfortable, like she was eavesdropping in on a deep dark family secret, or something of national security that could get her in hot water, but damn, she couldn't stop herself. Curiosity might have killed the cat, but fuck it all, they had nine lives, didn't they? Zerbrowski had lowered his voice, and she sidled in closer as silently as she could. "I can't let them murder him, Buzz," she heard him tiredly admonish the vampire. "And neither can Jean-Claude, and you know it." He looked thoughtfully in the direction Dietrich had huffed off to. "But there may just be another way." He shoved his report pad back into his pocket. "If you think the twins are in danger, or if Dietrich shows back up and tries anything with them, DO NOT attempt to take matters into your own hands. Let me know immediately. I owe Stephen myself and damned if I'll sit back and let that man abuse them again."

 

She perked up at that comment. Stephen. She knew that name; he was the pretty wolf that was helping her and Dr. Lillian with the wounded at the theater. A memory clicked into place; he knew Gregory, because Lillian had shipped him off to help unpack equipment when things started getting hairy with Sylvie. She felt a twinge of sympathy; he'd seemed like a nice guy, and it sure sounded like he was plagued with some bad trouble. Him and his twin, whoever that might be.

 

Buzz was nodding his head in agreement. It looked like she'd soon have her chance. "Do I look stupid, Zerbrowski? I do anything out of line and I'll have Anita up my ass. With a stake engraved with my name on it." Patricia watched him school his face to affable, and raised her eyebrows a little at the ease of the transformation. Vampires were obviously very, very good at masking. She drew in even closer, intent on getting his attention as soon as he was through, and caught the rest of his comment. "I know better. You'll be the second to know. Jean-Claude will be the first."

 

Zerbrowski paused, suddenly alert, but in a blasé `oh by the way' manner. "Is the big man here tonight? I'd like to fill him in on what transpired, and I have some other things I want to go over with him pertaining to Theatre de Sang if he's available."

 

Suddenly the entire conversation took on a fencing aspect as Buzz matched Zerbrowski's blasé tone with a bland, affable persona of his own, and answered succinctly, "Sorry, he's not here tonight. Jean-Claude had a meeting, and will be unavailable most of the night. I've instructions not to interrupt, unless it's an emergency. Not that Dietrich wouldn't qualify in my book."

 

Buzz apparently had said something interesting, because Zerbrowski broke out in a triumphant smile. "Good enough," the Lieutenant responded, then continued on in a mock amazed tone, "must be some meeting, though; Anita, Richard, and Micah all had a `meeting' tonight as well. Same one, you think? Oh, well, not my business. I'm going home to gargle out the sick taste in my throat. Call if you need me."

 

"I hear you," Buzz answered, crossing his massive arms across his chest and flexing his biceps to full bodyguard mode as Zerbrowski walked back to his parked vehicle. Finally, my chance! Patricia thought as she cleared her throat to let the vampire know she was

there. "Excuse me, Buzz? I'm sorry, but I was wondering if you could help me with something?"

 

The vampire turned to her, his Guilty Pleasures demeanor quickly settling back into place. His featured smoothed over, erasing the recent anger and blandness for a friendlier, more jovial appearance. "That's what I'm here for, Miss. What can I do for you?"

 

Well, at least he wasn't scary in that guise. She took a deep breath, and plunged in. "I'm trying to get in touch with Gregory…."

 

Her voice trailed off at the icy stillness that descended over the man. "No. Don't even try."

 

Confused at his anger, and more then a little nonplussed, she stammered, "I don't understand, all I want to do is get inside and talk to him, and give him my phone number…"

 

Buzz made a chopped motion with his hand, and in a clipped voice snarled, "Forget it Lady. I've had it with you crazies tonight. First it was that loony bitch Pam, who has appointed herself Jason's personal stalker. Then it was that sick fuck Dietrich. Look, the kid doesn't need anymore shit in his life, and I'M supposed to be the cold heartless vampire here. What is with you women, anyway? Why do some of you think just because they strip on stage you can craft this whole fantasy relationship with them? Did you ever think they might have personal lives outside of this joint?"

 

Patricia held up her hands in a warding off gesture. "Whoa, big guy. Back up a bit. I'm no stalker; I met Gregory at Theatre de Sang when it went BOOM. I'm a paramedic, he was there to help his shifter friends, and we kind of hit if off. Could you just PLEASE let him that Patricia Dougherty was looking for him and would really like to see him?"

 

The effect her name had on the bouncer was astounding. His verbal attack melted away, and he broke into a huge grin as he willingly pushed open the door for her. "I can't believe it!" he gushed happily. "He's been going on about you since that night! Having conniption fits, because he forgot to get your number and didn't know how to get in touch with you! He and Stephen were going to start calling around to different Paramedic units, and I suggested he talkto Zerbrowski, but who shows up at our doorstep? The Lady in Red herself!"

 

Patricia felt the tension ooze out of her shoulders. It was going to be all right. Hell, it was even going to work! She offered as she passed Buzz, "Zerbrowski knows me; he could've gotten Greg in touch. This is the first free night I had to come here." She fidgeted in the doorway. "This is going to sound screwed up, but I have no idea what he looks like. I only saw him in leopard form, and not that he wasn't beautiful like that, but.…"

 

"But it isn't gonna help you inside, now is it?" Buzz reached over to his stool and pulled out one of the handouts. "He's on tonight; his stage name in Marlowe. Look at the cover; that's him and his twin Stephen."

 

Patricia grabbed the proffered paper, and ignored Buzz's smirk at her eagerness. She looked at the picture on the outside of the brochure, and her jaw dropped. Damn. Twin blondes stared winsomely out at her. They were photographed arm in arm, happy smiles on their faces, identical blue eyes and long hair making it impossible to tell who was who. Didn't matter, she supposed. She knew what she was getting. And from the looks of the bare chests they both were flaunting for the sake of merchandising, her boy was buff.

 

"Okay," she squeaked, her libido and hope going into overdrive. "I think I can manage to find him, thank you!" She started to push through the door when another thought occurred to her, and brought an angry chill to her gut. Stephen was the one being stalked; him and his twin. Who was her boy Gregory. She felt an uncharacteristic surge of possessive anger; if that psycho did anything to hurt him....

 

What the hell was she thinking? She wasn't even sure she was going to have a relationship with this guy! And worse, she'd missed what the vampire wall of China had said. Slightly embarrassed, she managed a contrite, "I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" to the highly amused vampire.

 

Buzz laughed at her confusion. "I said Hell No! No way you're just going in there to sit at the bar and wait. Let me get Clay for you; he'll take you backstage. You can be up close and personal in no time!"

 

**********************************************************************

 

Malcolm chewed the end of his pencil thoughtfully, thinking about how he wished to conclude this evening's sermon. He preferred quill, but appreciated the ease of lead and the ability to erase. This was an innovation that he was more then willing to embrace, since it at least allowed him the façade of putting pen to paper, as it were. He loathed computers. They took the thought and intelligence out of writing by allowing even the most ignorant to spew words randomly through the keyboard, checking spelling for the illiterate, and allowing easy movement of phrases and deletion of errors. True writing required careful thought; there was an artistry involved in being very, very sure of your words before committing them to paper. Electronics were too cold for his preaching; he needed the elegance of longhand to give life and vibrancy to his thoughts. Inspired by his internal diatribe, he began to write feverishly, almost missing the sounds of a struggle outside his office.

 

Abigail burst in, pale and sweating. Frightened. She had yet to be turned, and being fully human, he found her stench decidedly noxious and annoying. She was one of his ardent admirers, a foolish middle aged woman who was enamored of him in a way she should have realized he would never reciprocate, being a man of the cloth, however far removed from God he was as a vampire.

 

Worse, she was a whiner, and her voice quavered shrilly as she practically wrung her hands in her anxiety. "Forgive me, Malcolm, I know you wished to remain undisturbed, but they refused to take no for an answer!"

 

Irritated, he let slip some of his careful powers, his face thinning as he allowed her a glimpse of his true nature. She blanched at the stoniness of his features, and the lack of beauty he normally cloaked around him to allay the fears of his flock. So he told himself. "I'd left explicit instructions to remain unavailable while I write, Abigail. Explain this disruption!" The admonishment died on his lips as he saw who exactly it was pushing past his panicked secretary.

 

The whore's slave and one of Jean-Claude's get.

 

He froze instinctively, his features bleeding to a bland, innocuous expression. "Abigail. Leave us. Now." He watched impassively as she hastened out of the room, no doubt to summon Moffat to his aid. Any interference on his flock's part would only be a debacle. None of his children were capable of handling the two vampires advancing upon him. Even his power was incapable of overpowering Damian any longer. Not since he'd become bound to the Executioner. Not since he's somehow become more. He laid his pencil down carefully, and in a calm voice commanded, "Stop this arrogance. Now then. I don't generally entertain visitors at this hour, and I am indisposed at the moment. However, since you have already boorishly forced your way in, is there something I can assist you with this evening?"

 

Damian bowed stiffly in greeting. Meng-Die didn't bother, simply gracing the seated `minister' with an insolent look before seating herself on the edge of his desk. Looking bored, she toyed with the zippers on her provocative vinyl cat's suit, and waved her hand impatiently at Damian to continue. He straightened with a smirk, and spoke in the manner of the court, his voice stiff and formal. A insulting demeanor that had Malcolm clenching his fists with it's impertinence. "Greetings, Malcolm, Master Vampire of the Kiss called Church of Eternal Life. Your presence had been commanded, an order

you've seen fit to disregard. We have been sent by Jean-Claude, The Master of the City of St Louis, to fetch you to his presence. Now. He is less than pleased that you have ignored his summons to a meeting of all the preternatural leaders of St. Louis to discuss the unfortunate events at Theatre de Sang. Since the invitation was hand delivered, you can hardly plead ignorance in not attending."

 

Malcolm chaffed at the title bestowed on him, and the reference to his flock as a Kiss, a sexual term he despised and had carefully distanced himself and his offspring from. "What that libertine wishes is not important to me. I do not involve myself in the politics of the council or its minions, and did not demean myself by attending the sacrilegious mocking Evariste intended for the bible. I am apart from those depravities. My agreement with Nikolaos.…"

 

Uncharacteristically belligerent, Damian interrupted Malcolm's tirade curtly. "Your agreement with the former Master of the City became null and void the instant she was put down by Anita. What you believe, or what you think, is irrelevant Malcolm. Jean-Claude and the others are waiting impatiently for your appearance. Like as not, you are a vampire, and what affects all of the supernaturals of this city affects you as well."

 

Malcolm's eyes became hooded, calculating. It was unthinkable that he bow down to that, that, ardeur soaked deviant. He had one final gambit to play, and he put it to use. "I have a sermon scheduled, and cannot possibly cancel at this late time. Several important humans, individuals who have relatives desiring entry into the church, are expecting to hear me speak. It will be difficult to explain my absence, and Jean-Claude insists on good relations with the authorities."

 

Damian was undeterred. "All of which could have been avoided had you simply scheduled them for a different time. They will learn to deal with disappointment. This meeting concerns you, and your flock, Master Vampire. It is not only the events of opening night that have disturbed our master. It is but a tip of the iceberg, in his opinion, due to his benevolence and the ingratitude of its recipients. He is gravely concerned by the handling of your kiss, and requires an accounting from you as to their continued existence."

 

**********************************************************************

 

"You staying or leaving, man?" a petulant voice whined in Merle's ear.

 

Merle didn't even bother answering the pimple faced kid who apparently wanted his parking spot. He just took his helmet off and let slip some of his power; just enough to turn his eyes to vertical before he locked gazes with the jerk. That always freaked the mundanes; eyes that were so obviously not human staring them down from a face that by all rights should have been.

 

The kid turned pasty, and as expected, gunned his barely street legal crotch rocket off into the night. He probably should have felt guilty about the intimidation, but it helped relieve his inner temper at being held at arms length with tonight's meeting. Something was brewing tonight, and it rankled that he wasn't there guarding Micah's back. His Nimir-Raj was normally sensible about extra muscle, but tonight was different for some reason. Tonight was leaders only, and strictly at the behest of the vampires. It wasn't being out of the loop that chaffed so badly. Micah would fill him in, as he always did. He wasn't jealous of being left out, it was not being there in case something turned ugly. Not being able to defend his alpha when push came to shove, IF push came to shove.

 

He knew Micah would laugh at him, since Micah felt he was perfectly capable of handling any situation, a superman attitude that always set Merle's teeth on edge. So, feeling impotent, he gone for a ride, hoping the night air would clear his temper and ease his nerves. He'd no particular destination in mind, and he gone on aimlessly until he'd scented some familiar friends. Human friends, for sure, but men he could pass some time with, if they'd have him. That was the kicker, right there. IF they would have him. People could be funny after a crisis was over.

 

So he'd been sitting malevolently outside the bar, trying to come to a decision. Making up his mind, he swung his leg over his Harley and made his way inside.

 

**********************************************************************

 

Dan leaned back against the sink, laughing at the ever present banter as he scanned his boisterous patrons, gauging the need for refills. His was a cop bar; cops and firemen, and he knew to keep the beer and whiskey flowing, and the eye rolling to a minimum at the tall tales of heroic exaggeration that were spouted most every night. These guys had tough jobs, and needed the occasional blowing off of steam to keep sane, and his little corner dive was just the place to do it in.

 

And, Lordy, tonight was a doozy. He knew he had limited exposure to preternaturals, and his knowledge was pretty much close to zip, but the load the boys were shoveling tonight was almost too much to bear. The chief in particular was on a roll, his eyes glittering, his slightly unfocused face swathed in a huge grin as he regaled his captive, and more then inebriated, audience with the details of his sacrifice. It was definitely going to be a busy cab night.

 

Halligan wiped his mouth expressively, after swilling yet another pint of Harp, and pronounced to anyone who was still listening, "I swear to you, my hand to God, that it was one of the most fucking AMAZING feeling I've ever had. No doubt the little vampire lady had, as well!" he added with a lascivious wink. "All in the name of a rescue, mind you. We all did it for the cause, you know. No fireman leaves a job unfinished. Ever! And especially not with the ladies, if you boys know what I mean!"

 

Fitzgerald rolled his eyes expressively at his older boss. Not that he wasn't appreciative of a good yarn, and they'd earned bragging rights that night, but the man was getting a little big for his hoses with his version of his participation. "Jesus, Halligan, we KNOW already! She was gorgeous, you were gallant, and after you went home and showered you decided to spin it that you gave as good as you got!"

 

Halligan emptied his beer and slammed it back down to the bar with a laugh. "You're just bent Fitz because YOURS was a guy!"

 

Fitzpatrick groaned. He should have known the cagey old bird would rub that in once again. "Damn it Chief, I TOLD you I volunteered without knowing! And, if you care to get your facts straight, I was the first, if you please! You just remember that little tidbit in the Grimm Fairy tale you're weaving there! I was the FIRST brave soul!"

 

Guffawing loudly, Dan pushed himself closer to the bar and decided to end the pissing contest, announcing loudly, "Last call in thirty minutes, ladies! Drink up and settle up!"

 

Only to jump near out of his skin at an order he was no where near expecting. "Bottle of Jamison's then, before you close up. I got cash," a gruff voice sounded from the end of the bar, and Dan eyed the man, unsure and a little afraid. He'd hadn't seen or heard the man come in, and it was sheer stupidity and a decided lack of self preservation on his part. If it weren't for the fact the bar was chockfull of burly public servants, he'd be reaching for the `just in case' tire iron he kept just for such emergencies.

 

He wiped his hands on his bar towel to compose himself, and answered bravely, "Can't do a bottle this late. Not good letting you walk out of here with open liquor, and I'll not be listening to you bitch about leaving it behind."

 

To his surprise, Halligan came to the man's defense, slamming his palm against the table in delight, and proclaiming loudly, "Not to worry, Dan! I'll be staying with the man!"

 

Great. TWO drunks in his bar after hours when by all rights he wasn't to be serving. "To hell with that, Chief! I'll not allow it, not without the both of you giving me keys, that is! I'm not needing that kind of trouble!"

 

Halligan snorted and shoved his mug over for another brew. "Oh, stuff it, Danny boy! I won't be doing the drinking, he will, and it won't do him much harm, now will it, Merle?"

 

Merle smirked at the fireman. He'd known he was a smart man. "Been reading up, have you, fire guy?"

 

"Hell yeah, and I concede," Halligan answered as he reached into his breast pocket. "Cigar? And why the hell didn't you come in earlier?"

 

Merle laughed out loud. God, he loved a good bar. "Thought you'd never ask. Wasn't absolutely sure of my reception here, so I though I'd just test the waters and settle the Jamison thing."

 

Dan relaxed a bit, but still eyed the two men a little dubiously. "You guys got a history? And I don't care what you say, Halligan. He drinks it and I'm calling him a cab."

 

"He's a shifter, Dan. Metabolism's faster. He'll be lucky to even get a buzz from it."

 

Dan narrowed his eyes. That wasn't welcome news. "He gonna be trouble, Chief? I don't want any hassles or breakage in here. Insurance will have a fit."

 

Halligan rolled his eyes, and tapped the bar impatiently for his refill. "Jaysus, man, learn to expand your horizons! He might be a scruffy, loser, biker kind of guy, but just `cause he's furry don't mean he's trouble!"

 

He turned back to Merle and shouted jovially, "Pour me a shot then amuse me by drinking the whole damn bottle!" He burped companionably and handed Merle one of his precious cigars. "And back me up, would ya? These pups are DOUBTING the truth of my story!"

 

Merle laughed and poured himself a double. "So it's truth you want out of me? I can surely accommodate that," he mused as he downed the whiskey and slowly lit his cigar. "Let's see, should we start with the point where your eyes rolled back into your head, or how about a little earlier when…."

 

Various patrons cheered that pronouncement, demanding to hear what REALLY had gone on that evening, and Merle heard Halligan groan good naturedly at the expected ribbing he would be taking.

 

Merle eased a little inside. It may not be where he wanted to be, or where he was needed, but it was as good a place as any. And he was among friends.


	40. Chapter Forty

The Clay that Buzz was referring to turned out to be a tousled hair blond cutie with pale eyes and a whipcord body. Security for sure, but with an easy laconic smile that made him almost instantly likeable.

 

Patricia refrained from fanning herself. "Does this joint have a policy against hiring the ugly or something?" she joked nervously as Buzz quickly departed back to his post after sketchy introductions and a lengthier explanation of her `quest'. That was how Buzz put it too; her `quest' for Gregory, an inside joke that had the two employees laughing, and that she suspected had nothing to do with Monty Python and everything to do with her hopefully soon to be beau.

 

"Most all the Weres and vampires that work here are attractive, Miss," Clay explained easily as he motioned her to follow him down the corridor.

 

Patricia shrugged; who knew there was a beauty clause before they let you in? But she was being frivolous, and fast losing her guide, so she stifled her humor and scurried nervously back to the blond haired Security Guard as he led her into the bowels of Guilty Pleasures. She winced at the pounding beat coming out of the room she was being led towards. Her apparent ultimate destination, unfortunately. By all rights and for the sake of her eardrums she ought to be running in the opposite direction, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars. Shit; she'd thought the stage area of the club was deafening. Loud music, rude and lewd, was blaring from the dressing room area where Clay had indicated Gregory was located. He'd called it the shifters' room, and had laughed as he explained the segregation. Apparently most of the vampire strippers preferred quieter music in their down time, being older and from more genteel eras than the lycanthropes. Young men in their twenties, generally speaking, were not enamored of Debussy, preferring a volume and rhythm that rattled teeth and made ears bleed unnaturally. She wondered briefly if she wasn't making a mistake in her choice of preternaturals; vampires' tastes sounded more like her cup of tea. Ah well; cie le vie as it were.

 

They paused in the doorway, the sign proclaiming "EMPLOYEES ONLY", and Patricia felt her stomach flutter and her palms sweat. It was no longer a thought, a planned excursion for sometime in the future.It was freaking now, and damned if she wasn't reacting like a high school kid on her first date. It was cute, in a weird way. Except she didn't do cute; she despised cute. She was a balls to the wall, woman of action, grab hold of what she wanted kind of gal.

 

Resolutely, she wiped her damp palms off on her jeans and nodded to Clay to open the door.

 

It was show time.

 

**********************************************************************

 

Hey!

You're a crazy bitch

But you fuck so good I'm on top of it

When I dream

I'm doing you all night

Scratches all down my back to keep me right on

 

Stephen patted a final, thin layer of sheer powder over his stage makeup, then leaned back to get a good overall look in the full length mirror. He eyed his costume critically, and then adjusted a few straps around his waist before he was satisfied with his appearance. He wished the same could be said of his partner, and he turned to harangue his procrastinating brother. "Damn it, Greg, get dressed already! Put your damn `quest' on hold already! You can't go finding her tonight and we're on in a half hour!" He was starting to get pissed off. It was never good if you were late for a set, and repercussions could be a damn sight more painful then a simple reprimand or docked wages around a vampire club. "And what the hell are you listening to?"

 

Gregory ignored his brother's irritation, and continued to flip through the phone book trying to find Paramedics. "Don't mock my Quest, brother! Be glad it's a normal obsession for a change. And it's a new CD," he answered absently. "I should give it to Nate; it's him and Anita if you listen to the lyrics. Damn it," he snarled, shaking the book as though that would magically cause the correct phone number to fly out. "Where the hell do you find paramedics in here?"

 

Completely exasperated, Stephen took a flying leap and tackled his brother to the ground. "Enough already! I told you I'd help you, but get it through your thick skull we can't do anything tonight! Now get into your leathers and cut me a break here! I still have to do your makeup and you know what a pain in the ass you are to do quickly because you squirm!" He paused for breath and finally listened to the refrain of the CD. "Damn, I wouldn't do that if I were you. Nathaniel will be pissed off you called Anita a crazy bitch. Hell, Anita would have your hide as a seat warmer! That's your Nimir-Ra, and my Lupa, thank you!"

 

Gregory hooked his arm around Stephen's throat and laughing, flipped their positions. "Well, it's kind of the truth and you know it! You ever see his back? And yeah, I know, he likes it. Hell, so do I sometimes." He released his brother and flopped dramatically onto his back. "Fuck me, Stephen, but what am I going to do? How could I be so stupid? Maybe it's just fate; maybe this would never have worked out," he lamented pathetically as he began to tick off the reasons the relationship could never be. "She's smart, pretty, has a responsible job, and what I am? A lousy wereleopard stripper."

 

"With a tight ass," a familiar voice opined from the doorway, and Gregory's bemoaning abruptly ceased as though a switch had been thrown.

 

Patricia couldn't help it; she laughed out loud at the bug eyed, shocked look the barely clad object of her desires was giving her. She wasn't the only one amused, either; Clay was smirking just beside her, his friendly face crinkled in amusement. "Look who came to our humble establishment trying to find you, Greg? Damn, leopard, you have to be the luckiest son of a bitch I've ever seen. I wish women came searching me out like that!"

 

Greg blurred to his chair, grabbing his robe and covering his near nakedness. "Hey Clay, thanks. Thanks a lot. I owe you." He glared at the bigger werewolf. "I mean that. Good of you to surprise me that way."

 

Clay laughed even harder at Gregory's thinly veiled and utterly useless threats. "Hey, Buzz said bring her to you, so I brought her to you. He's the head of security. I'm only a spoke in the wheel," he intoned solemnly as he gave a slight bow to Patricia. "It was a pleasure making your acquaintance, Miss. Sylvie speaks highly of you. So, I understand, does Lillian. Hope we all get to see more of you."

 

Patricia gave him a warm smile. "Thanks, Clay. I appreciate the escort. Say hello to Sylvie for me, will you?"

 

"Will do. You going to work for Lillian like the rumors have it?" he asked hopefully. "It's been a toss up who grabbed you first; the Doc or Greg here. Lillian could sure use the experienced help. Most humans won't work around us medically."

 

Patricia laughed. She didn't know what was funnier; that she was the talk of the lycanthrope community, or the look of death on Gregory's face over her sudden appearance and her casual conversation with the rumpled but cute Security Guard. "Greg first; I'll be in touch with Dr. Lillian by the weekend. And in case you haven't noticed, I'm not like most folks. Thanks again!"

 

She turned back to the sulking man before her. That had to be Gregory; Stephen would have no reason to be annoyed at her intrusion. Well, maybe that wasn't true. Who wants a sudden, uninvited female presence in their dressing room? She held out her hand out to her erstwhile boyfriend. "Gregory, I presume? You forget to take something with you that night? Like my phone number?"

 

Stephen, his twin, muffled a happy sounding laugh behind his hand. "I think I need to beat a hasty exit here, guys. I doubt you want me around this reunion." He clapped his brother on the back, and asked, "Hey Greg, should I see if I can go on alone or have the strip order adjusted?"

 

Gregory looked at him, a worried frown creasing his face. "Is Jean-Claude gonna be pissed I bailed tonight? Because I'd rather you just go on without me if you could. I'm pretty sure I'm not gonna be in a working mood, and kind of hoping I won't have the time."

 

Stephen gave his brother a bright smile and a thumb's up. "The boss isn't here tonight, but I'll explain it to Jean-Claude later. Give me a call if you guys leave Pleasures." He gave a quick wave as he grabbed his street clothes and cosmetic case. "I'll just get ready in the bathroom after I'm done if you two are still here."

 

The dressing room door closed with a loud slam. Which left the wannabe lovebirds by themselves.

 

"So," Patricia said, deliberately moving her arms to her sides and moving in closer. She figured this was a more relaxed, inviting look. As opposed to the oh so welcoming rigid, crossed under her breasts look she had been sporting moments before.

 

Surprisingly, Gregory backed away from her, an almost panicked look on his face. "So? What does that mean, `So'?"

 

Patricia stifled a laugh, and felt her own nervousness melt away in the face of his utter terror. Huh, guess she had some misguided maternal instincts after all. They just never seemed to want to surface in the face of rug rats.

 

"So, my eloquent soon to be boyfriend, can run the gamut of possibilities," she lectured softly as she backed an extremely flustered Gregory against the wall. She'd never be so brazen before; outgoing and as non-shy as they come, sure, but this was just plain aggressive. But something about this man made it seem right. "SO can mean, Do you want to do the date thing?, or it can be a more to the point, How bout we cut the bullshit and just get the awkwardness of the first kiss out of the way now?'"

 

Bright blue eyes darted excitedly back and forth with her own, joy and apprehension warring with each other. And suspicion. Like she was toying with him or something. Like he didn't believe her, even though he'd been prepared to search her out.

 

Damn some men and their trust issues.

 

Well, there was only one way to cure that. "I'm a little too impatient to go the old fashioned route, and since I've already seen you furred and naked it's kind of anticlimactic. But kissing, now that's personal. And important. You can tell a lot about a person by the way they kiss." She tilted her head, and leaned in to softly brush his lips with her own. His lips were soft, and she could tell he was holding his breath, holding himself dead still like if he moved she would bolt.

 

"Nice," she whispered, her hand resting hard enough on his chest to feel his racing heart. She smiled devilishly. "But can't a stripper do better?"

 

That shook him out of his stupor, and he abruptly clutched her close, and she had only a moment of amazement at the speed with which he moved before he devoured her mouth with his own, his tongue hot and questing in her mouth, his hands rubbing softly down her back to gently knead her ass.

 

`Oh, yeah,' was her last coherent thought as she moaned around his tongue. `He definitely can do better.'

 

 

**********************************************************************

 

Malcolm was nearly blind with fury. Impotent and unable to use his power, he was all but hamstrung by his `Honor Guard' and outmatched and outnumbered by Jean-Claude's Kiss. Meng-Die and Damian silently flanked him, not touching him, but their intimidating presence made him feel more like a prisoner than an escorted `invitee'.

 

It had been too long since he had played this deadly game of verbal repartee and courtier machinations, and he fought to school his features and demeanor to an unreadable stillness. He was teetering on the edge, and it would avail him nothing to show his temper. But the insult that had been done to him; his teeth clenched and ground at the slur. That these two underling vampires had shown up at his church, manhandled their way past his flock, to burst silently into his office and haul him protesting to his feet with the terse explanation of, `The Master of the City requires your presence at his meeting for an accounting of your handling of your Kiss', was intolerable to his pride.

 

And worse, he loathed the Circus of the Damned. It had been a long, long time since he had passed through that ridiculous clown entrance and descended into the entrails of the beast, and it was not a place he willingly visited in the past. Nor was it now as his `escort' led him to Jean-Claude's office, where he was hurried unceremoniously inside into the presence of the Master. Like an errant child forced to the headmaster's office for a scolding.

 

Malcolm scanned the participants as he made his way to Jean-Claude's desk. The invitation he had received had not lied. All of the city's preternatural leaders were indeed there, sans bodyguards. No humans were present; none of their police or politicians had been included in this meeting. Harm had been done to the vampires, and it was clearly viewed by Jean-Claude as solely a supernatural affair.

 

Jean-Claude himself sat regally behind his desk, his power pulsing and his countenance like that of a King. Unsurprisingly, Richard Zeeman, Jean-Claude's lapdog and beast to call, flanked the Master of the City's left side, while the erstwhile whore of Babylon, Anita Blake, flanked his right. He clenched his fists at the sight of her, her and the two wereleopards who stood behind her. Her debauched lovers, if the stories were true. Micah Callahan no doubt was here in the official capacity as representatives of the Leopards, and because of his affiliation with the Coalition, all the other, smaller lycanthrope groups. But the younger one, the one with the ridiculously long hair, his presence could only be for her own wanton pleasure. Nathanial, if he recalled correctly, held no strength otherwise that Malcolm could discern. The others present, however, were all powers to be reckoned with. Narcissus, that decadent freak who was Oba to the Werehyenas, was subdued in a black dress as he sat silently off to the side. He had heard that the hermaphrodite was still mourning the loss of its unnatural hell spawn child. Foolishness. God did not suffer the beasts to reproduce.

 

A golden haired man stood uncomfortably behind Narcissus. Shifter, but what denomination he did not know. Lion perhaps; he had heard that the Executioner had developed a predilection for that breed. But he must be an Alpha or he would not be here. Malcolm scanned the room further, staggered and disturbed at one conspicuous absence. The Rat King, Raphael, was nowhere to be seen.

 

He was ushered to a halt a half dozen feet in front of Jean-Claude's mahogany desk. Damian swept past him, and bowed in front of the Triumvirate. "As you commanded, Master, we have fetched the vampire known as Malcolm to your presence and this meeting."

 

Jean-Claude nodded perfunctorily, and waved the red haired vampire away. Damian straightened and quickly slid into his place behind the Executioner, close enough to rub shoulders with Nathaniel. He laid his hands gently on Anita's shoulders, and began to surreptitiously knead the knotted muscles until the coiled, murderous look leeched slightly away from her face.

 

Full blue eyes blazed down on him. "Obedience is required and will be enforced Malcolm. I have no wish to hear your excuses. Now, greet me properly and show me contrition."

 

Malcolm's carefully constructed calm slid completely from his face. This was intolerable; contrition was meant to one and one alone, and he furiously answered, "I bend no knee to the likes of you, libertine! Nor will I show throat as you so obviously require!"

 

It was a short-lived revolt, as he felt Meng Die grip the back of his jacket and force him sputtering to his knees. "What right do you have to impose your will on me here, Jean-Claude?"

 

Malcolm watched both Anita and Richard stiffen in outrage, but Jean-Claude never moved from his seat. He answered smoothly, with a deceptive calm. "The right of the Master of the City, Malcolm. You disturb me. Your denials and your impertinence. You mock our traditions, and as you surmised no longer merit the mere formality of a wrist offering. Submit to me."

 

Meng-Die grabbed a handful of his blonde locks and forced his head backwards, baring his throat to the Master's will. Malcolm snarled in answer, "I have permission to run my church here! It was agreed. You have no right."

 

"Silence!" Jean-Claude hissed angrily as he finally stood and advanced on the kneeling man. He caressed Malcolm's throat before gently enclosing it with his fist. "Your agreement was with Nikolaos, who is no more. I decide what you can and cannot do in my borders, Malcolm. Make no mistake of that. And you have been foolish. Foolish and indiscreet."

 

Malcolm's retort dried on his lips as a pitiful moan sounded from the adjoining room, a pained, plaintive sound that slowly mounted into a full fledged scream. If there were coherent words spoken, they were illegible to even the sharp preternatural ears of all those present.

 

Malcolm stiffened at the anguished sound. "What game do you play here, Jean-Claude? Did you drag me to your presence merely to subject me to your depraved debauchery, or is there an actual meeting being held that you required my insight to?"

 

Jean-Claude's fist tightened on Malcolm's throat, his nails biting in deep enough that trickles of blood began to seep down Malcolm's neck. A pointed reminder that the errant vampire was a breath away from losing his throat. "You continue to forget yourself. I brought you here because it suited my desires. And for you to answer for your stupidities."

 

Anita leaned forward, anger lining her face. "You've been an asshole, Malcolm. With your flock and your ambitions."

 

That woman. She was the downfall of all that was pure in this town. She was the one who had wrested his children from him, if only for a moment. "Tame your whore, Jean-Claude," he snarled, "or I will." A useless rant, he knew, but one he could not contain himself from uttering.

 

Feeble begging could be heard, muffled hoarse words that had barely the strength of a whisper. A hissing sound was quickly followed by another piercing scream, then abrupt silence. A child's delighted giggles followed.

 

Jean-Claude laughed cruelly as he flung Malcolm from him. "Anita is not who you should be concerned with, preacher. Asher's talents in interrogation are legendary, and he has Valentina to assist him. An attempt was made on my life, and the lives of my human servant and animal to call. My kiss has suffered because of this affront, and those who looked to me for protection have died. Most intolerable. Such a thing cannot be allowed to go unpunished. The unfortunate that you hear, who has garnered my temoin's attention, was involved, but as Asher has ascertained is not the master behind the plot. He has given us a name, and Asher is simply verifying to his satisfaction the truth of it."

 

Malcolm shuddered, bloody bile rising in his throat, his face going stony and white. Asher's talents and predilections were legendary, and had been for centuries. And the child torturer had long been the nightmare of all vampires who had the misfortune to fall afoul of their mistress Belle Morte.

 

Malcolm licked his lips, fear finally overpowering his hatred and anger. His voice quivery, he asked quietly, "Why involve me, involve all of us you have summoned here, if you have one of the culprits in hand?"

 

Jean-Claude gave a hooded smile, his expression revealing nothing. "Because justice will be served this night, and I would do the courtesy of allowing all who bear the mantle of leadership in our city sit witness and aver to its fairness." His smile broadened as a tiny, moppet sized female entered the room. "Ah, perhaps the wait is over."

 

Valentina skipped into the room, her face radiant with delight, her eyes dreamy with slaked need, her clothing spattered with blood. She curtsied prettily in front of Jean-Claude and Anita. "Asher bids me to tell you that he is satisfied. The names given are the truth, and nothing more can be gained from the traitorous rodent. To pursue more torment would only garner lies from the man."

 

Jean-Claude nodded sagely as he cupped her radiant face in his palm. "Wise in your craft as always, poppet. Pain is valuable, but unbearable amounts with no mercy would only have him lying in desperation for it to stop. You concur, I take it, Valentina? You are satisfied as well?"

 

Her brunette curls bobbed vigorously as she nodded her agreement. "Yes master! We have burned the truth from his worthless body, Asher and I." She moved her hands languidly up and down her torso. "It was marvelous, the sounds he made. I thank you, Jean-Claude. I have not had such fun since I reached these shores," she gushed happily, clapping her hands at the torture she had enjoyed. "Bartholome is most pleased as well! He has glutted himself on the man's fear and agony."

 

The shifters winced but held their council. Had the traitor been in their care, he would have undergone the same painful interrogation techniques.

 

A pained shuffling heralded another entrance. They were all weres, and their curled lips and flared nostrils let all present know that whatever was entering the room was upsetting, to say the least.

 

Not to the vampires. No amount of torture was enough for the one who had instigated the burning of their kindred. "Behold, Malcolm, what befalls those who betray me, no matter who they might be," Jean-Claude announced pompously as Asher dragged in the pitiful remnants of a man into the hushed room.


	41. Chapter Forty-One

An air of expectancy vibrated throughout the room, the only movement as all present stilled in anticipation of the revelation to come. Jean-Claude had been decidedly closed mouthed with the details for this meeting, other than informing those invited that it involved a resolution to the debacle that was the opening night of Theatre de Sang, and that all would be revealed this evening. The fact that one of the perpetrators had been captured was no surprise. Asher and Claudia had virtually disappeared from all other duties as they pursued the investigation, and the two were known for their competence and tenacity. And only a fool who kept his head buried in the sand would have missed the recent thrum of excitement at the Circus of the Damned. But this hushed melodrama was unexpected, and had given rise to wild speculation among the lycanthropes. The fact all the shifter leaders were present, sans one, had the remaining Alphas anticipating one of the Rodere as soon as they had arrived.

 

Even Anita leaned forward curiously, intent on seeing who it was that Asher was bringing forward. She knew more than the others present; the machinations involved, the alliances uncovered; everything but the identity of the wretch being dragged into the room. She swallowed down the sickness in her throat; the torture had grated on her, and she fervently hoped it always would, no matter her understanding of the necessity. She knew she'd done the same herself, out of dire need. But as a kindness, Jean-Claude had refused to tell her who Claudia had smuggled in through the back entrance, unconscious and covered in a tarp. Only that the individual had been involved, and was their source to the others.

 

And that she, for the sake of her sensibilities, should stay away until summoned.

 

Asher strode purposefully into the hushed room, his expression one of cold fury, his eyes a mirror image of his rage. Pale and completely icy, the blue completely dominated his orbs, and were a visual testament to his restrained temper. He dropped his hold on his victim, allowing Claudia to half carry, half drag the poor bastard who had been the object of his interrogation the remaining way into the room. His duty was now to his friend and master.

 

Claudia's face was impassive, her eyes merciless, and the assembled Alpha's bristled at her power as it pricked and danced across their skin. Under normal circumstances, they would be compelled to make a display of their superiority, but these were far from normal circumstances, and they were more interested in seeing who the traitor was that was being dragged to their judgment than in asserting their authority.

 

Valentina twirled, her skirt billowing about her as she laughed joyfully at the hoarse whimpers the broken man still managed. "See, Master? See how well we have spun our craft for you? Are you pleased?"

 

Jean-Claude sat back against his desk, and replied absently, "Most pleased, Valentina. Now be a good girl and go to Bartolome. If more is required of you I will call you back to me."

 

The child vampire ceased her motion, stilling to immobility, her tiny hands clenched into annoyed fists. "But I'll miss the remainder of the fun, Jean-Claude. You said I could have my fill of enjoyment from this traitor!" She stamped her tiny foot crossly. "You promised!"

 

Jean-Claude remained impassive, his eyes glued to the man hanging from the tall wererat's arms. Valentina's dangerously petulant voice had ceased to affect him the moment she petitioned to stay in his Kiss. He was a Sourdre de Sang and she had sworn herself to him. He would tolerate no tantrums.

 

"Leave me. Now. I will brook no further disagreement." His power and temper were already at a knife's edge, looking for an outlet. He did not deign to see if he was obeyed. It was expected.

 

Valentina unclenched her fists, and quickly bowed and backed out of the room, unnoticed, and glad of it. It was chancy to cross a Master as aggrieved as Jean-Claude, and she was glad he had his attention riveted on the fool who thought to best him. It was unfortunate she would miss the grand finale, but disappointment was always to be born stoically. And perhaps she could convince Bartolome that if they were very, very quiet, they could view the denouement from a darkened doorway.

 

Jean-Claude ignored the departing vampire. Valentina had her uses, but was not one to be permitted excesses without control. Not without paying a dominance price.

 

As Asher came to a halt in front of Jean-Claude, he motioned to Claudia, who flung the chained man down viciously in front of the Master and Mistress of the City. The pathetic wretch screamed hoarsely as Asher pulled his bound arms upward, forcing him to perform a deep obeisance in front of the two most powerful preternaturals in the city.

 

Anita gasped in surprise. "You!" she said, shocked to recognize the battered form before her. Before she could speak further, Raphael trailed into the room, his lips white with anger and disgust, and his eyes button black with his animal. Ignoring all the others present, he came directly to Jean-Claude, and in a tight clipped voice announced, "I have done what was required of me. I did not permit him to shift through the questioning." His eyes looked sorrowfully from Jean-Claude to Anita, and back. "It saddens me to no end that it was one of my Rodere who betrayed you, and helped cause such death and destruction. Whatever reparations you require of us to make amends, I will assent to. The pride and honor of the rats are at stake, and I would not have our relationship or agreement damaged by this one's actions."

 

Jean-Claude laid a hand on Raphael's shoulder. "Your honor was never besmirched in my eyes, Mon Ami. And by assisting, you and Claudia both have shown the loyalty of the Wererats. There is no debt between us."

 

Anita had stood the instant she'd recognized the figure being dragged in. Staring down at his prone form, she said decisively, in a frighteningly quiet voice, "I know you."

 

The beaten man rolled his swollen blue eyes at her, squinting as he tried to focus on her through the blond strands of blood and sweat soaked hair that were clinging to his lashes and forehead, impeding his vision. He apparently took too long in answering, as Asher impatiently wrenched his already tortured arms upward, eliciting a shriek of pain and a screamed, "Yes! Yes! You know me!"

 

Anita shook her head in disbelief. "I knew it. You were Nikolaos' rat. The one she summoned to rape me in her dungeon the night Jean-Claude brought me here to find the vampire killers. You and the other hateful wererat who was with you."

 

The man shivered, tears of pain and terror streaking his face, but he offered a final defiance in her direction. "It's all your fault! Yours! The Rodere were on top, hers to call and command, and you killed her!" he sobbed almost incoherently. "Raphael didn't understand what he was giving up, fighting her. The pleasure, the strength, and now we have nothing! Nothing but an alliance with the wolves and vampires as their hired muscle. Kept slaves, more like it!"

 

Anita shook her head in amazement. "Nikolaos was insane. Raphael was smart to fight her, and we're all better off without her."

 

Raphael raised a fist angrily to cuff the spiteful man, then let it drop uselessly to his side, unable to inflict more pain on the poor bastard's scarred and bloody body. "You never understood, Jonathan. Nikolaos was not a Mistress worth serving, and even as her animal to call we were never the most powerful clan in St. Louis. We truly would have been slaves under her dominion, not allies as we are with Jean-Claude and Anita." He shook his head sadly at the man's folly. "Not friends. Never that."

 

His eyes taking on a harsher glint, Raphael straightened, his posture resolved as he motioned Claudia to unchain the bound wererat. "But enough of this!" he said loudly, his disdain choked voice echoing in the chamber. "Jonathan. Do as you swore. Now. Point your master out to us; show us the one who is the ultimate blame and I will allow a surcease to your pain. Lie, and…" He let the threat trail off ominously, and Asher moved in closer to the cringing man, his hands unsheathing the knife he drew from the belt at his waist.

 

Jonathan lunged downward, abasing himself, his forehead pressed firmly against the blood red carpeting. He lifted a trembling arm, and raised an accusing finger to point directly at the one man present who had instigated the entire affair.

 

"Malcolm. It was Malcolm, Master," he whimpered in a broken voice.

 

The room erupted in gasps of surprise and barely contained bedlam as all present lunged to their feet, shocked at the revelation. Desperate, Malcolm surged to his feet as well, and in a blur attempted to silence the beaten, prostrate man. It was useless. Spoken accusations could not be erased, and he wasn't given a chance to get close to his accuser. Meng Die, her petite oriental features twisted into a gleeful snarl of hate, leapt onto his back, her arm encircling his throat as Asher and Damian sprung to her aid in subduing the panicked cleric. Richard and Micah, the trusted lycanthrope muscle for the night, took flanking positions around the prone man, protecting him from harm. At least until such time as they could kill him.

 

Richard raised accusatory eyes to Anita. "You knew, didn't you?"

 

Anita shook her head negatively. "That Malcolm has been a bad little vampire with his lame ideals and handling of his church? Yes. That he's been bad mouthing Jean-Claude to the politicians and bigwigs of the city? Sure. That he'd been behind this? No. I'm even shocked by this."

 

Jean-Claude's voice echoed through the chamber. "You will not get out of this quite so simply, Malcolm. All have heard, and killing your accomplice now will avail you nothing. You have been accused. What say you?"

 

Malcolm snarled from his forced kneeling position, all pretense of beauty swept from his features, desperation and anger making his voice harsh. "What do you wish me to say, Master of St. Louis? You already believe this tortured soul's lies. Falsehoods wrung from his lips through torment. He would claim his own mother as the evil temptress behind the destruction if it would bring about a cessation of his pain."

 

"Shall I put you to the same questioning he has endured, Malcolm?" Jean-Claude answered thoughtfully, his calm voice at odds with his thinned out visage. "The idea has merit. Would you call the words screamed from your lips lies then? No?" he continued derisively as he threw up a dismissive hand. "Do not try my patience with further deceit. I am satisfied with the truth of this beast's revelations. I wish to know one thing alone from your murderous lips."

 

He leaned down, his eyes boring into Malcolm's, and asked simply, "Why?"

 

Trapped and enraged, Malcolm struggled uselessly against Meng-Die and Asher's restraining hands. "Why, you filthy corruptor? My flock!! You would subvert them, addict them to your sex and power, coerce them into losing their identities and becoming sycophants for your pleasure! Do not deny it; it has already begun. I could not allow it! I would not allow it!" He sneered in Evariste's direction. "And them! Making a mockery of the holy book at that ridiculous theatre of yours! You angered the righteous sensibilities of more than just I, catamite!"

 

It was folly on Malcolm's part to speak so forwardly to Jean-Claude. Infuriated, he backhanded the struggling vampire, and snarled, "You are a fool, Malcolm. I suspected you of pride and pompousness, but this, this far outstrips any of your prior idiocies. You dangle disaster over all our heads by not blood oathing your flock, then compound the error by trying an insane assassination attempt against our lives, the lives of the only ones who could possibly be the salvation of your misguided get." Jean-Claude drew in a deep calming breath. Unnecessary physically, but learned habits died hard, even after countless decades of a new life. "You will heed me now, master vampire. Listen and obey. I will have you blood oathed to me, and I would have all of your followers either oathed to you or directly to me. In a fortnight; do I make myself clear, Malcolm? Do you understand? I will have your flock under my power in that time, or I will hunt them all down and slay them where they stand." He stalked over to a settee, and settled into it regally to await his rival's decision.

 

Malcolm cringed at Jean-Claude's words. His children, forever bound to the sex and debauchery of Belle Morte's favored child. Intolerable. Unthinkable. "No! Never! I will not allow myself or my people to be food for your pervasions!"

 

Jean-Claude blurred from his chair, his hair billowing about him in a dark, sinister cloud, to once again tower over the kneeling vampire. "You have little choice, Malcolm. Do you wish darkness for all who willingly came to you for life everlasting?" He shook his head in disbelief. "You are in no position to refuse, or to bargain. Swear to me now, or die here by my hand, your followers falling soon after."

 

Malcolm stilled, going silent under the towering form of Jean-Claude. It was true. All his people, without the oath to sustain and control them, would either die outright, rise as revenants and be executed, or be masterless and slain as a threat to the authority of other Masters' territories. Continued resistance was useless. He was a beaten man, but like as not, he wasn't going to be able to surrender simply. "I cannot oath to you now, Jean-Claude," he conceded weakly. "My people would never swear fealty to me then. They would think it a ruse."

 

Jean-Claude narrowed his eyes, but could sense no subterfuge. It was a valid objection. "Very well, Malcolm. You have ten days then; in ten days, you come back to me here, your flock bound to you, and kneel and beg my authority, or I shall send out my people to destroy you all. Imagine it, Master Vampire. Your followers, dragged into the sun, screaming your name. Or staked in their slumber, never to awaken."

 

Defeated, Malcolm bowed his acquiescence. "It will be as you command, My Lord."

 

Waving dismissively, Jean-Claude turned his attention away from Malcolm to the traitorous rat. The Church of Eternal Life was a mistake on his part; a costly one, but one that had been or would soon be rectified. He ignored the muffled protests squeaking from Malcolm's throat as Damian and Meng-Die dragged him from his attention.

 

One other matter needed to be resolved.

 

"Raphael," he said quietly. What he was about to demand would not be easy on the dark haired man. "Your Rat's guilt is irrefutable."

 

The Rat King sighed sadly. "Agreed."

 

Jean-Claude nodded. "And you others? This is one of your kind who kneels in judgment. I respect the lycanthropes of my city, and will not insult any of you by passing judgment on one of your own in such a great matter without your knowledge and agreement." He looked at them one by one. "If there are any objections?"

 

Narcissus, who had been uncharacteristically quiet through the drama, stood suddenly, smoothing out the wrinkles in his mourning dress. Raphael hissed as he moved closer to Jonathan and ran a finger across a particularly vicious burn. "Not that it hasn't been delicious fun, Jean-Claude, like a perverted S&M game of Clue, but I have a question. I understand his involvement. And the sanctimonious one's. But who are the humans everyone has been alluding to?"

 

Richard and Micah perked up at this, as interested as the werehyena in hearing the explanation. Anita had told them that a splinter group of HAV was involved somehow, and they had expected that they would learn particulars of how a preternatural hating group had come to align themselves with the objects of their loathing this night.

 

"They're known as God First," Anita explained quietly, startling those present. She'd been so still through most of the proceedings that they had nearly forgotten her presence in the vampires' face off. "They believe that any who worships God, and holds to the bible, are welcome as long as they assist in eradicating the devil from this Earth." She smiled wanly. "Apparently we all are the devil. Theatre de Sang was the final straw, with the Bible being used as the basis for the shows."

 

Jean-Claude ran an arm around Anita's waist. "They approached Malcolm, who we have learned had already been meeting clandestinely with Jonathan, and the rest is, how you say, history." He released Anita and moved closer to the lycanthrope leaders. "So, you know all that we have uncovered. We have endeavored to keep you all informed, as far as we were able without jeopardizing Asher and Claudia's efforts. I ask again; are there any objections?"

 

Silence greeted his query. It was a formality, they all new, but a welcome and respected one. It showed the degree of esteem Jean-Claude held them in.

 

"Bon. Then guilt is agreed, and judgment shall be passed. The wererat known as Jonathan will be summarily executed this night."

 

Jonathan sobbed uncontrollably at his sentence, and crawled awkwardly over to his King. "Please, Raphael. I beg of you. Mercy."

 

Raphael stared at the beaten man abasing himself at his feet. He had been unwilling and unable to show mercy while the man underwent questioning, but now was different. A life was at stake, guilty or not. And his soul rebelled at the potential injustice at risk here as well. "And what of the others, Jean-Claude?" he asked said softly, leaning down to lay a hand on his disobedient rat's bowed head.

 

Confused, Jean-Claude answered, "What others do you refer to?" He had not expected any opposition, only a speedy execution and a moving on.

 

Dark eyes met Jean-Claude's stubbornly. "The others involved. The humans he and Malcolm spoke of. Malcolm himself. Should they not to suffer the same fate as my rat?"

 

Jean-Claude shrugged as if the objection had not occurred to him, or did not matter. "The human authorities will deal with their own, Raphael. RPIT has been informed. And Malcolm is a vampire and mine to punish. As you saw, he is being dealt with as well."

 

Anita stared intently at the Rat King. She knew the man wore his honor on his sleeve, and would chaff at any perceived bigotry. "I hear what you're saying, Raphael. I will do everything in my power as a Federal Marshall to ensure those who are brought to trial from the racist groups involved are convicted and pay the full penalty of the law. You have my word."

 

Raphael shook his head in disagreement. "It isn't your word I doubt, Anita. I never have. I doubt the justice of a humanity who still views us as monsters and would in all likelihood be sympathetic to their cause. I'm not a fool, and none of you should be either. I hold little hope that those from God First who were involved will be punished. They are not my concern. My people are." He took a deep breath and began to direct his words to the assembled shifter leaders. " So my rat is to die? Jonathan is to be the only one brought to justice who is to pay the ultimate price? The God's First fools are going to walk free, you all know they are, the human's undoubtedly turning a blind eye to their involvement and murders. After all, who did they kill in their eyes? Vampires. The walking dead, who, legalities aside, many still consider to be corpses unworthy of the appellation of life. And what of Malcolm, the vampire mastermind, the one who set in motion this whole heinous affair? He gets to walk free as well, his only punishment to be swearing fealty to the Master of the City."

 

He looked pointedly at them all, and the assembled lycanthropes twitched uncomfortably under his gaze. "But the shifter is tortured. The shifter is to die."

 

Jean-Claude listened intently to Raphael's impassioned plea, not unsympathetic to the perceived inequality, but at a loss on how to rectify it. "What would you have me do, Rat King?" he asked tiredly. "You agreed to the questioning. You yourself agreed that those proven guilty could not go unpunished. He threatened your fealty as well as my own."

 

Raphael deflated slightly. "I do not deny what I agreed to, Jean-Claude, Master of the City of St Louis. Nor do I need you to remind me of them. I simply point out the disparity in the punishments; it is an injustice. And believe me, I've had a bellyful of injustice in my time."

 

Jean-Claude nodded his understanding; he too had suffered countless injustices over the centuries. But he was unwilling and unable to allow Raphael's objections to become an impasse to his retribution. "I cannot kill Malcolm out of hand, Raphael. You must understand that. I empathize with your uneasiness, your anger, but to take Malcolm's head and heart here, now, would only condemn countless blameless vampires of his flock to the same death. Where is your justice in that? They need to swear fealty to him, to me, to animate their bodies. To make them live. Is executing hundreds of blameless vampires along with Malcolm fair in your eyes?"

 

"No," Raphael sighed in defeat. A whimper escaped the throat of the pitiful excuse for a man at his feet. "But if Malcolm cannot be held to the ultimate penalty, I cannot allow it for Jonathan either. He was a fool, and a betrayer. But I will not have him be a scapegoat."

 

Jean-Claude leaned forward, his temper fraying even further, and dared to wave a dismissive hand at one of the most powerful lycanthrope leaders in the city. "You disappoint me, Mon Ami. We had an understanding; I will see to Malcolm's punishment, he will not get off `Scott free' as you seem to imply. Ma Petite will attend to the humans. Your people were the only Weres involved. By your own laws, he is to be dealt with severely for challenging your authority and attempting your overthrow."

 

Raphael's fingers began to lengthen into claws as he attempted to match his power to Jean-Claude's. "Don't dare insult me by preaching our laws to me, vampire. You would do well to remember your own and take Malcolm's head and heart. As is your right and duty."

 

Anita began to move in between the two incensed men, hoping to forestall a battle they both would regret, when Evariste spoke up behind her. "It was my troupe that was burned, Master. My friends that died. Might I have a say in these proceedings?"

 

Jean-Claude looked startled as he whirled around and acknowledged the weaker vampire, chagrined that he had forgotten Evariste was there. "Oui, Monsieur. You are one of the aggrieved parties. You have every right to be heard as well."

 

Evariste elegantly bowed his thanks. "Then might I offer a compromise? It was my people whose lives were lost. Over the bible, so let us use that as a guide. An eye for an eye. I would accept his life in replacement, as my slave. Until I deem such time that he has paid for his crimes."

 

Jonathan clung desperately to Raphael's leg. "My King, no, I beg you!" He gestured to his torn and burned flesh, still raw and bleeding, the prolonged torture and Raphael's intervention draining his powers so that his healing was slowed to an almost human pace. "A lifetime of this torment? I cannot," he sobbed, his forehead pressed against Raphael's shoes. "I cannot! Please!"

 

Evariste moved forward to squat down next to the shaking man. "I am not a cruel person by nature, Monsieur Jonathan. Your life will not be pleasant by any means, but your punishments will be earned and I will not torment you capriciously. But you will atone to me for the lives of my friends and colleagues, or you will die here. Now. Screaming for a compassion that will never come."

 

Jean-Claude nodded in agreement. "A worthy compromise. A life in payment, instead of a death. If Evariste is pleased, then so am I. Do you agree, my friend?" he asked Raphael seriously. "I would not have this drive a wedge between our alliance. I wish your accord as well."

 

"It is fair," Raphael nodded. "And better then I'd hoped for. You understand why I had to object, Jean-Claude?" Open and honest, he stared expectantly at Jean-Claude, willing him to accept and understand.

 

"Oui. I did not like it, and would have pressed the issue if Evariste had not offered such an elegant solution, but I knew your heart was true to your followers."

 

Raphael smiled then, his face relaxing at the realization that the confrontation was over. "Good. It's over then." He went over to Claudia, and embraced the taller woman. "He's not to be persecuted by you or any others, Claudia. His sentence has been pronounced, and all will abide by it."

 

Claudia gave him a quick hug in return. She'd had enough of vengeance this night as well. "Agreed, Raphael. It's done."

 

Richard backed away from his guard position and allowed Evariste to lead the cowed man away. It had been a sickening night, in a God forsaken week, and all he wanted to do was go home, crawl into bed, and escape into some well earned escapist sleep for the night.

 

"Then let's get the hell out of here and go home."


	42. Chapter Forty-Two

Pity, Asher thought as he watched Evariste lead out the traitor, followed closely by the Rat King and Claudia. I will have to find satiation elsewhere this night. His bloodlust was thrumming after the hours of torture he had inflicted on the man. Unlike Valentina, the mere inflicting of pain was not enough for him. He craved a denouement; blood and pain for him needed a death; a life or sex. Since it appeared he had been cheated of the kill, he could only hope for Anita and Jean-Claude's bed. In need, he glided in behind Jean-Claude and laid an urgent hand on his shoulder, squeezing it hard before releasing it for a gentle, near imperceptible caress. He felt Jean-Claude still, and could hear him scent the air, redolent with blood and Asher's arousal. Jean-Claude would understand. He had to understand. As if his intent were not obvious, Asher leaned forward and absently brushed his cheek against Jean-Claude's, acting as though the contact had been accidental, a byproduct of a whispered observation.

 

But it was not to be. What would have worked in the past was useless in this modern present. Jean-Claude shook his head, and gently removed Asher's hand from his shoulder, his eyes slanting to Anita in a surreptitious sideways glance. Asher sighed in defeat; it was his fate to be spurned this night, though in fairness to Jean-Claude, it did not come as a shock to him that Anita's sensibilities would not be amiable to an assignation after what he had done to Jonathan. She no doubt agreed with and condoned his methods as a cold necessity, but to then have sex with him, or understand his arousal, was an intimacy she simply would not be ready for.

 

So, disappointment abounded. Evariste's solution was not what he would have chosen, and it was abundantly clear that there was going to be no pleasurable end to his evening's toil. By rights the coward should have been bled dry by Evariste and the other wronged vampires, but he had had little choice but to abide by this compromise. He had worked closely with Claudia, and held her high regard, as he did Raphael. The man was due the respect of a Liege Lord for his display of steadfast loyalty and justice for his subjects. Jonathan deserved neither of their support, and he strongly doubted the man would earn his freedom through this second chance anytime soon.

 

But all the other participants save him and, he suspected, Jean-Claude, were pleased with the resolution. He watched Micah trade knowing glances with Anita, then by some unspoken understanding gather up her Pomme de Sang Nathaniel and take their leave as well, undoubtedly to await her in their warm and cozy bed. Anita, if anything, was predictable in that regard. It was warmth she craved after the distasteful reality of torture and bloodshed. The warmth her lycanthrope lovers could offer came with a reaffirmation of life and was more palatable to her at the moment than the coldness and practicality of Vampires.

 

His eyes shifted to Richard, who looked to be taking his leave as well. Non; he could not allow that. For better or worse, the night was not yet done, and he abandoned his position behind the Master of the City to waylay Richard and lay a restraining hand on his familiar, muscular bicep. He would not allow the main triumvirate to depart without voicing his objections and concerns to them. And, perhaps, just perhaps, he could convince the ever-reluctant Mr. Zeeman to once again act upon his baser nature. His sense of smell was as acute as any lycanthrope's, and he could tell Richard, for all his protestations and outward signs of distaste, was as keyed up and excited as Asher.

 

He allowed his voice to go low, sultry. Submissive. "A moment, Ulfric…" he said quietly as he moved his hand from Richard's arm and splayed his fingers across the werewolf's sternum.

 

Richard bristled at Asher's hand, his muscles tensing in irritation, his lips curling back in an unconscious snarl. He pressed forward against the contact, his eyes glittering but still human, still in control, even as he felt Asher ratchet up his counter pressure to hold the powerful wolf still.

 

Asher's eyes gleamed with hunger and amusement, and he whispered quietly for the Wolf King's ears alone. "I do not challenge your dominance, Richard. I learned my lesson that night in the woods after my little assignation with Nathaniel came to light with Anita. Even if a repeat," he paused a moment, and languidly licked a smattering of the wererat's blood from the back of his hand, "would be most welcome after the delectable diversions I've had tonight. Perhaps later we can indulge each other once again?"

 

Richard's breath hitched slightly, his emotions demanding he wrench his arm free, his groin demanding that he prove his Alpha status to this upstart once more. He could feel his fingers tingling as his nails hardened into lupine claws. Battle preparation; a battle that his instincts acknowledged as unnecessary as he watched Asher lower his eyes in submission.

 

"So ready to fight once again, Mon seigneur," Asher cooed seductively. "And once again the opponent is questionable; you wish it to be me, but in reality…" He smirked at the familiar look of confusion in Richard's eyes. "But neither is necessary. I merely have doubts I wish to voice that you should hear along with Jean-Claude and Anita."

 

Richard nodded shakily, and forced his beast back. Damn that golden haired prick. How he knew which buttons to push on him was damned irritating. Even worse was the fact that Asher spoke the truth when it came to his desires; it had been titillating, hearing the screams, scenting the blood, and his libido was high, raging for something similar. He'd planned to run, to shift and perhaps sate it through a kill, but now his beast was clamoring for something harsher. Something he could sink his teeth, and other things, into.

 

Asher smirked at the wavering look of uncertainty on the Ulfric's face. Perhaps the night was not to be a total disappointment after all. As soon as the room had emptied, Asher turned back to Jean-Claude.

 

"I assume you know that Trou de cul Malcolm has no intention of obeying?" Asher snorted derisively. "As much as he covers his lie with a plausible truth, his true intent is to buy time. Time to once again attempt to overthrow you."

 

Jean-Claude lounged back, looking deceptively relaxed as he pulled Anita closer into his body, a familiar comfort seeking gesture that she, for once, did not stiffen against but allowed gracefully. She knew this wasn't finished, and relished the combining of their strengths through the embrace as much as he.

 

Jean-Claude's steely tone belied his true temper. "I am not a fool, Mon Chardonnet. I know that sanctimonious whore will attempt to wheedle out of his oath; after all, he will rationalize, how binding is an oath made to the devil himself?" He shook his head sadly. "Malcolm always was a fool, and I look forward to forcing the ardeur onto him as punishment and feeding from his abject lust. You of all people should understand my mercy, Asher. I could not condemn his flock to certain death without affording them this opportunity. Not like Belle. Not when there was at least a small chance of his acquiescence. "

 

Asher bowed his head regally, his face sympathetic with understanding, but he was the only one in the room it seemed who truly understood. The Ulfric puffed up angrily, his frustration evident, and more than willing to allow outrage to suffuse his voice and use this revelation as an outlet for his pent up adrenaline. "So all this was for nothing, Jean-Claude? Raphael was right in his diatribe about shifters? Lycanthropes are punished while Malcolm just walks free?"

 

Anita gave a worried look to Jean-Claude. "Not to gang up on you here, but Richard's right. What was the point of all of this if you fully expect him to renege? Worse than that, you just let him walk free, right back into the public's eye. It's going to be next to impossible to force his hand now without getting in the media spotlight all over again."

 

Jean-Claude smiled cryptically. "You underestimate me, Ma Petite. The point, as you say, is I have bought myself time as well. Did you think I would not at least offer those beholden to Malcolm a chance myself?" Anita looked at him, uncomprehending, the beginnings of anger darkening her eyes as he sighed in exasperation at her lack of understanding. "Anita, the ones who swore fealty to me already, Avery and the others; you know them, yes? They are comfortable with you after that night at Malcolm's church?"

 

Anita blinked rapidly, still confused but working beyond her temper as she desperately tried to discern what plan within a plan Jean-Claude was weaving now. "I know them, and they'd probably listen to me, but I don't know where you're going with this Jean-Claude."

 

"Then talk to them, Ma Petite," Jean-Claude answered tiredly. "Tell them that if they have friends in the Church of Eternal Life, friends they wish to come out of this coup unscathed, they should convince them to come willingly to my hand. Now. It will bode better for them if they do. Tell them the consequences if they should refuse."

 

Asher chuckled appreciably at Jean-Claude's maneuvering. The Executioner would be a most persuasive ally in convincing the Church's unholy flock to align their allegiance with the Master of the City. Richard, however, shifted uneasily, both from the implications of Jean-Claude's statement and the tingling effect of Asher's laughter. "And what if they don't oath to you? What then?" His tired tone matched Jean-Claude's. It seemed as though there was no way to save them all. No way that this would come out with a fairy tale, happily ever after ending. "What if they choose Malcolm? Can you then force Malcolm to bend a knee to you? And what if he doesn't try to oath them, what happens then? Do you let them just die when you rip his heart out?" Richard shook his head; resolve stiffening his spine into an aggressive stance. "I don't like this Jean-Claude. It smacks of forced slavery somehow. I don't know if I can just sit back and see them slaughtered for their principals. I know too well what it's like to be railroaded for who you are and what you believe in."

 

Jean-Claude spoke soothingly, his power reaching out to comfort his wolf, his special animal to call, prima donna and difficult as he was. "Oh, my wolf, he will oath those who do not come to my hand. Mark my words on that. As much as he disdains it, he knows the ways of power among vampires. I am counting on that knowledge. We will recruit the willing; he will oath the loyal in order to increase his own power. And then," Jean-Claude grinned wickedly. "Then he will be taught what it means to challenge a Sourdre de Sang and his triumvirates."

 

Asher grinned wickedly as he deliberately leaned against Richard's bulk and ran an arm around his waist.

 

"And my services will once again be needed. Bon; you can look forward to it, Loup Garou. As you will see from this night, my appetite is insatiable when I am called to perform this special talent of mine."

 

Richard's eyes narrowed at Asher's bold statement, but he didn't push him away. Jean-Claude's smiled widened to a full-fledged grin that he attempted to hide behind a `pensive' hand. Anita could only stare blankly at everyone present; there was something she was out of the loop on, that much was obvious, and damned if she didn't intend on beating the truth out of Jean-Claude later. Or the hell with later, there was no time like the present.

 

She stood up abruptly, her hands going to their normal pissed off position on either hip, and stared down belligerently at Jean-Claude's fake innocent expression.

 

"All right, pal," she whispered furiously. "Spill it. What the hell is the deal between those two?"

 

Jean-Claude shrugged, his demeanor showing total mystification as his mind raced for a plausible answer, and he opened his mouth to offer his best attempt at a credible explanation when Anita's pants began chiming Rob Zombie's Living Dead Girl.

 

"Damn Jason! I told him to change that ring!" she snarled as she clawed her cell out of her pocket and flipped it open to see who it was.

 

"Oh, shit," she moaned, her voice hushed with apprehension. "It's Marianne."

 

Jean-Claude's hands blurred as he wrenched the phone from her grasp and flung it to an untimely demise against the wall. "Non. Not this night. Her undoubtedly horrific news can wait for at least a week. Or perhaps a month."

 

Anita looked over at the remains of her cell phone. Normally, she'd be pissed, but under the circumstances…

 

"I agree. Marianne can wait for a while; sometimes the devil you don't know is less stressful than the devil you do."


	43. Chapter Fourty-Three

  
Author's notes: Epilogue  


* * *

Zebrowski was never one to forget his debts, or to procrastinate over paying up. Which is why he found himself in this less then savory section of St. Louis, picking his way around unmentionable trash and hypodermic needles in his quest to find a certain derelict that was a thorn in the side of someone he found himself caring about. Someone he felt the need to protect.

 

Stepping gingerly, Zerbrowski tiptoed his way through the debris of the tenement hallway, squinting at the faded numbers until he came to number sixty-nine. Figures. That sick son of a bitch probably picked that one out himself. He didn't want to be here, didn't want to share the same airspace with the slime ball he was about to talk to, but he owed a life debt. And frankly, this one he didn't mind paying.

 

He rapped sharply on the door, and then held his shield up to the spy hole. A few moments later, the door opened to show a tall but stooped man, dirty and disheveled, with an unhealthy pallor and at least a week's old stubble on his face.

 

And eerily familiar cornflower blue eyes.

 

"Anthony Dietrich?"

 

Dietrich coughed, a phlegm choked, filthy sound, and spat at Zerbrowski's feet, splattering his shoes with yellowed, nicotine laden spittle. "You know who I am, Officer, so don't make it sound like a question. Just like you know I haven't done anything wrong, either. I've been nowhere near those two little ungrateful bastards of mine. So why are you harassing me?" He squinted blearily at the badge Zerbrowski held out, "and why does an officer of the RPIT give a damn about me anyway? Who the hell do you think you are?"

 

Zebrowski kept his cop face on, stoic and unfeeling, and studiously ignored the man's blatant attempt to insult and provoke him. "I'm Lieutenant Zerbrowski, and don't construe this as harassment, Mr. Dietrich. Think of it as a little friendly advice." He stepped in closer to the noxious smelling derelict, deliberately invading the man's space. "I happen to be a friend to your sons, and feel it's in their best interest for you to move far, far away and never come back."

 

"You can't make me leave; I've got rights!" Dietrich sputtered in reply, his bony hands waving frantically in Zerbrowski's face. "I'm a sick man! You can't force me to leave my home! And I haven't violated their stupid ass restraining order, even though I'm their own flesh and blood. The man who brought them into the goddamn world."

 

Zerbrowski never changed his expression, simply continuing on pleasantly, "I'm not making you do anything, Mr. Dietrich. I'm just suggesting. In a very friendly manner, I might add, considering how much you disgust me for what you did to your own sons. Now you see, if I weren't a fine upstanding servant of the law, I'd beat the living crap out of you and drag you out of town by your dick. But I take pride in my job, so I'm just here to tell you, if you were the least bit smart, to leave of your own accord."

 

Dietrich backpedaled, and tried to force the door closed. "Bullshit! That's a threat and you know it! I'm not going anywhere until one of those brats repays me as their father by turning me! Damn it, I'm a sick man; a dying man. It's the least they could do!"

 

You're not dying fast enough to suit anyone, Zerbrowski thought disgustedly as he leaned his body into the door to prevent it closing completely. "I can assure you it's not a threat, but I'd like you to see something. Look out your window, down to the sidewalk, and tell me what you see."

 

A few moments passed before the inebriated man returned to the doorway. "Two damn kids. Boy and a girl, and both are too young to be out alone in a neighborhood like this." He leered at Zerbrowski. "Something bad might happen to them out there. There are a lot of crazies in this world, you know."

 

Yeah, and I'm talking to one of the scummiest right now. "Cute, aren't they? Boy not quite old enough to be a teenager, and an adorable little prepubescent girl. Innocent and helpless, right? It may surprise you to know that they're friends of Stephen and Gregory, and feel they own them a debt of honor." He laughed humorlessly at the disdain on the pedophile's face. "You look puzzled, Dietrich. Or is that scorn? Maybe, just maybe, those two aren't quite the potential little victims you think they are. Take a look out your window now. You don't have to walk over. Just turn around."

 

Confused, Anthony turned his head and let out a little moan of terror. An acrid smell of urine assaulted Zerbrowski's nose, and he choked back a chortle as he watched the wet stain spread across the front of the big bad child molester's pants.

 

Bartolome and Valentina were floating outside the apartment window, all shred of humanity gone from the features, their claw like hands beckoning Dietrich towards them.

 

"Come to us, old man. Force yourself on us as you did your own sons. We will be sure to give you exactly what you deserve," Bartolome sang out, before laughing wickedly. The sound, a screech like nails on a chalkboard, chilled even Zerbrowski, and he was secure knowing the vampires were on his side.

 

"So here's the deal. The two child vamps owe your sons, and would like nothing better than to repay them by ripping you limb from limb and drinking you dry. Normally I'd try to stop these things, but I have to say in your case I'd turn a blind eye. But I'm a humane person, so I'm going to give you an option on door number two. You leave St. Louis. Permanently. I don't give a damn where you choose to go, but you will check in with the local PD wherever you end up with instructions to contact me. I, in turn, will be in contact with the local preternatural community who will be keeping a very, very close eye on you. And should you do anything, and I do mean anything, outside of the law they will hunt you down and make you beg for death a thousand times before they grant it. And you will never, ever, contact your children again. You have forty-eight hours, or I let the vampires have their way with you."

 

He didn't even bother listening to the cringing man's abject, whimpering agreement. He felt dirty, but satisfied.

 

Stephen was safe, mentally and physically safe, from that sick son of a bitch. And it felt good.

 

**********************************************************************

 

Richard stopped at the front desk of RPIT Headquarters. He had to check in and get a temporary pass, Zerbrowski had said. He tamped down his rising excitement. He loved to teach, and it didn't matter who or the circumstances. Just the idea that he could help someone expand their knowledge, to better themselves, was an indulgence he'd gladly devoted his career to, and even better, he could make a living at it. After his showdown with Arthur and the school board, it had seemed like he'd lost his opportunity; but where there was a will and a need, there was a way. The past few days had been a whirlwind,

from rescuing Jason and the others, and the resolution of those involved, to finally his own job predicament.

 

He knew he was supposed to be there, that everything was set up with the Lieutenant, but the overly abrasive gray haired receptionist immediately immobilized him with a frosty glare and a haughty, "What is your name, Sir? And do you have an appointment?"

 

He couldn't help it. He might be the St. Louis Werewolf King, and a member of one of the most powerful preternatural triumvirates ever created, but pit him against a steely senior citizen who reminded him of the terrifying Mrs. Solomon, grade school librarian, and he froze like a rabbit who knows the kill is immanent.

 

"I'm, um, Richard Zeeman? Lt. Zebrowski is expecting me?" He watched nervously as she scanned her list of acceptable names. Dear God, please don't let that idiot detective have screwed up. She probably had a flamethrower under there to incinerate trespassers or something. And the way she was eyeing him, he was definitely falling into the ne'er do well category.

 

Thankfully, he heard his name being called by a very familiar, very welcome voice. Zerbrowski. He mentally retracted the idiot comment as he heard the man command, "It's all right, Mrs. Solomon. Mr. Zeeman is with the Coalition and would be listed as a co-worker, not a guest. He's conducting classes here, and will be several times a week for the foreseeable future, so you'll be seeing him around quite a bit."

 

Mrs. Solomon sniffed disdainfully at this decided breach of protocol and procedure. "Then he should have identification, Lt. Zerbrowski. I'm not supposed to allow entrance to employees without their proper ID badges, as you are well aware."

 

Richard winced, but Zerbrowski was apparently unfazed by her death tone. "Oh, stop being a pill, Myra. I have his badge right here," he said, giving as much attitude as he was getting. He looped the ID around Richard's neck. "He'll have it the next time, and if you give him grief again, he has my official permission to turn furry and eat you. And don't say another word," Zee continued, holding up a silencing finger. "He'd be applauded by all the poor bastards who work here that you've terrorized over the years. And Katie adores him; so don't bother calling and bitching about me to her. You're

short an ally there as well." He raised an eyebrow at her. "Besides, you let everyone else in, including Irving Griswold."

 

Myra huffed, but like any good crusty general, she knew when she wasoutgunned and it was time to retreat. Making a show of her evident disinterest, she began furiously typing on her PC, dismissing their existence for obviously more important work.

 

Flush with his victory, Zerbrowski herded Richard away from her domain and into an auditorium like room that was jam packed with RPIT detectives and regular beat cops. "Don't mind her," he whispered conversationally. "She's an evil witch of a woman, but the best damned receptionist we've ever had. No one gets in here who isn't supposed to be here, or she pulls the alarm on them before you can blink. The guys are scared to death of her, but we all feel safe and organized with Myra at the helm. I swear she was a marine in another life."

 

"Not a problem, Lieutenant. I just had a bad grade school flashback and froze for a second." He spotted his subordinate wolf off to the side, and asked, "But I was a little surprised to hear you say Irving was here. Why?"

 

"I think she evokes everyone's worse grade school memories. Oh, and Micah asked that Irving be allowed her to do a series of articles for his column, The Furry Perspective. It'll be good publicity for you and your people." His eyes sad, Zerbrowski's look turned uncharacteristically serious. "I don't think I've ever said this before, but I'm sorry you got screwed over by the school board. They had no right to fire you."

 

Richard shrugged. It was water under the bridge as far as he was concerned, even if it wasn't over yet. "They'd wanted me to resign peaceably, but I wouldn't do it and my lawyers agreed. If they wanted me out they were going to have to fire me." He gave a wry grin. "Which of course they did, but at least we've got a good wrongful discharge suit going. It's becoming a rallying cause for shifters everywhere. In the meantime, I'm working for Micah and the coalition now. And I'm OK with Irving. You're both right; the publicity will help."

 

Zerbrowski gave Richard a companionable clap on the arm, the man version of a comforting hug. "Well, if you need me in any way, let me know. And I appreciate your help here as well; you and the other shifters. The better trained and more knowledgeable my people are the better chance they have of going home alive and in one piece at the end of their shifts." 

 

He turned to the audience, and in a loud voice announced, "Ok, you bozos settle down now. Mr. Zeeman here is going to be lecturing over the next few weeks about lycanthropes, so pay attention, take notes, and maybe you'll learn something that will save your mangy hides." He turned back to Richard, and waved expansively. "They're all yours, Zeeman."

 

Richard smiled appreciatively, and laid his notes on the podium. "Zerbrowski has asked the coalition to come and give lectures to RPIT and select St. Louis policemen on Shapeshifters. I've agreed, and will be giving a series of five one hour long lessons, with however long as you like Q and A sessions."

 

The gathered cops hushed expectantly, and Richard smiled inwardly at their rapt attention. He'd missed this; God, he'd missed this.

 

He began ticking the ground rules off on his fingers. "Rule one there are certain taboos to shifter society, so if I refuse to answer a question, don't press it. You'd be pushing your luck."

 

"Rule two � I've brought along some friends to help demonstrate some of the points. Gregory and Stephen Dietrich. You will treat them, and anyone else I bring along to help educate you, with respect. And yes, they are strippers from Guilty Pleasures. I don't want to hear any nonsense about that."

 

You could hear a pin drop in the room. Good. The twins had been a little nervous about participating in his lesson plan, and Jean-Claude had been less then pleased to lose them from his lineup as well. "Tonight's lecture is on proper reading of lycanthrope body signals. I wrote a phrase on the board; all of you, read it aloud please."

 

To a person, they never hesitated. "THE BEAST NEVER LEAVES THE MAN, AND THE MAN NEVER LEAVES THE BEAST."

 

Richard beamed. It always warmed him when he had a classroom of people who truly wanted to learn. "Remember that; even in our human visage, the beast lives just under the skin. And as our animal, we are still at the core humans."

 

He saw a hand raise in the back of the room. "Yes?"

 

A strong feminine voice shouted out, "Sorry to interrupt so early, but what does that phrase have to do with reading body signals?"

 

Excellent. At least some of them weren't afraid to speak up and interact. "Good question. As a good cop, you learn to read perpetrators body movements to assess your danger. The same holds true with lycanthropes, to even a stronger degree. Especially among pack shifters like wolves. You are all aware of wolf hierarchy among natural packs. The trick you'll have to learn is to discern if you are dealing with a dominant or submissive. Stephen, come forward please."

 

**********************************************************************

 

Anita wandered into the kitchen, mentally bracing herself for a busy night's work. She couldn't bitch at Bert; in all fairness, with all the bullshit that had been going on recently she flat hadn't been carrying her workload at Animator's, Inc. Larry had been valiantly covering for her, but enough was enough. Her professional pride would not allow her to shirk, and she'd just gritted her teeth and agreed to the five raisings the smug, avaricious prick Bert had assigned her tonight.

 

At least it was familiar territory. She'd been raising zombies for years, and there was something homey about coming waking up to her kitchen, where Nathaniel, God bless him, had her favorite coffee brewed and waiting for her, and Damian sat at the huge table, blueprints for the rebuilding of Theatre de Sang spread out before him.

 

Who was she to nit pick over the fact that one was her Pomme de Sang and Animal to Call, and the other was her Vampire Servant? You cherished the cards life dealt you.

 

"Where's Micah?" she asked companionably as she poured the pot into her extra large travel mug.

 

"Coalition emergency. He left quickly, and said to tell you he'd be late and not to wait up for him. Oh, and Zane and Cherry stopped by. They wanted to know if they could spend the night here. I told them it was all right; they'd done it before and I assumed you wouldn't mind." He chewed a thumbnail as he flipped through the dozens of layouts Patrick, the clever construction werewolf, had given him. "I will be late as well. I am meeting with Jean-Claude to go over these plans. We should break ground once again in about a month."

 

She smiled at the officious tone of Damian's voice, and the fact that he'd made a household decision without her. He was becoming more self-assured and confident, her Damian was. Management seemed to agree with him.

 

"Looks like we'll all be late. I have a lot of raisings to catch up on. I'd better let Nathaniel know that he might want to bunk up with Jason tonight. I'll probably head over there afterwards to be with Jean-Claude."

 

"And feed the ardeur," Damian continued practically. He did not often share her bed, and it no longer grated on his pride. He had a life and love of his own now, in Vivian, and though he was irrevocably tied to Anita, he did not begrudge her time with the other men in her life.

 

She bent down and kissed him lightly on the cheek. Damn, but life was good now. Richard may have been fired, but he was happily lecturing at RPIT. It was too soon to see if Malcolm was cooperating, so that little monkey wrench couldn't rock her existence just yet. So at least for this moment in time, she leaned back and savored the sheer normalcy of her existence. Well, in the skewed way normalcy applied to her. But only for a moment; she had work to do, and wasn't about to let Bert ruin her happy mood with a "Where the fuck are you?" phone call.

 

Juggling her coffee and black zombie bag, she jogged her way to her vehicle, trying to maneuver her keys into place to use the keyless entry. Contorting her body into a position that would make a yoga instructor proud, she heard the satisfying sound of the doors unlocking and the hatch opening on her so far unscathed Jeep Cherokee.

 

All without spilling a drop of her precious nectar of life.

 

She tossed her animating equipment in the back, and then froze at the sight of an unfamiliar box with her name prominently scrawled across the top. She knew that handwriting, and half anticipated, half dreaded the thought of what might be inside. There was a note as well, neatly folded and tucked into one of the flaps.

 

"Anita,

 

I had a high profile job to do, one that I couldn't afford to involve you in or follow any of the niceties of letting you know I was around. Suffice to say me and mine will be taking a long hiatus out of the country.

 

I'm sorry to leave you deal with the aftermath. The state of the art armament in the back is an apology gift. It won't stop you from cursing my name, but it'll help in the aftermath. Use it in good health.

 

Oh, and you should tell the cannon fodder you call housemates to be more careful. I could have taken out the blond woman and Lurch(LOL) easily; lucky for them I like a challenge and no one had paid for their executions.

 

Death

 

"Edward, you son of a bitch, who'd you kill?" Anita whispered softly in the suddenly icy night. He'd signed the fucking thing with the name the vampires had given him. His boogey man name. He was trying to tell her something with that, and it could only mean that his target had been a vampire.

 

Her stomach lurched at the thought, and her travel mug slipped from her suddenly nerveless hands

 

Who had died?

 

Fin


End file.
